The Life You Save
by wickness
Summary: After his trial and incarceration in Blackgate, Jim Gordon isn't asking for more therapy sessions. But that's never stopped his therapist before. Takes place between 2X15: Mad Grey Dawn and 2X18: Pinewood.
1. Uptown Funk!

**Hi, thanks for checking this out! It turns out I'm ready to post this story way sooner than I thought. I'm anticipating this to be a shorter story (by my standards). I'm thinking there will be 14-18 chapters.**

 **Parts of this story will be rated M for (Im)Mature. This story takes place after "In Your Dreams" and between the episodes of 2X15 and 2X18. I'm excited to share this! Thanks for reading!**

(x)

Dr. Leslie Thompkins couldn't tell if her stomach churned more from the morning sickness or watching the clock tick down to 9 a.m. It would be the start of another long day of court proceedings in the city of Gotham vs. Jim Gordon. She supposed it didn't help that Judge Gellar assigned the trial to take place in the ceremonial courtroom on the second floor, which only gave everything an increased air of intimidation and intensity. Normally, Lee found herself soothed by refined, aesthetically-pleasing surroundings like rich marble floors, mahogany wood, and vaulted-box ceilings. Now, every time she stared up into the judge's ornate bench, she felt dread sinking down from the top of her throat to the soles of her shoes.

The counsel sat at two tables facing the bench. Jim's lawyer had started out the proceedings with energy and hope and enthusiasm. Now, after weeks arguing opposite D.A. Dent and his disarming, all-but-brilliant performance in court, Jim's lawyer was brow-beaten. He looked very much like a man resigned to a guilty verdict. And he wasn't the only one.

Jim hunched over in his seat. Each day, he sat himself up when trial was in session, calm and alert, but Lee knew him too well not to know that many parts of him simply were not present. Most the time, he made his mind go somewhere else.

It killed her every time. To watch the man she loved, the father of her child, disconnect more and more from everyone and everything around him with each passing court date.

A railing with a swinging gate separated them from the gallery, which as usual held a packed house of spectators, most of them eager to see what fate would befall Jim Gordon.

Lee was learning that the only thing people loved more than a hero was watching one fall.

She blinked and glanced up as she saw Detective Harvey Bullock slide into the pew, wearing his usual fedora but trading his leather coat for a matching suit jacket. She moved aside her coat where she'd been saving him a seat and he plunked down.

He removed his hat and softly gruffed, "Hey, doc." Then he reached over and clapped a strong hand on Jim's shoulder. "Jimbo."

Jim turned to face them and nodded grimly before looking back. This had become their textbook exchange before each court day over the past month. Lee wasn't sure that there were any words that could decrease the anger and shame they felt over what was happening. Sometimes all you really needed to know was that someone stood with you.

There were only three more days of court scheduled until the prosecution and the defense would be out of witnesses to call. The defense put off calling their next witness for as long as could be allowed. She put up a fight after receiving her subpoena, and Lee knew why. When it came to murder trials, it wasn't just the therapist who was called into court. All their notes, evaluations, and even the most intimate details of their sessions were fair game for both lawyers to call to public record.

Initially, Lee thought was a smart move for her to delay her court appearance by trying every trick in the book to be dismissed. Unfortunately, her reluctance to testify only seemed to create more intrigue as to what she might be hiding.

The clock struck nine, and Judge Gellar welcomed everyone into court. When asked, Jim's lawyer stood up and said, "The defense calls Dr. Madeline Scott to the stand."

Her four-inch pumps clicked smartly against the marble floors, and when Jim's lawyer held open the wooden doorway at the front, she thanked him. She looked like she always did, professional, sharp, and composed. She chose to wear a midnight blue suit with a white satin top underneath. With her red hair it gave off a patriotic vibe, if Lee did say so herself.

The room fell quiet as she took the stand. She pertly tossed back her hair and held up her right hand.

The bailiff asked her, "Do you agree to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?"

A little smile played on her lips when she said, "I do."

(x)

Jim's lawyer asked the usual questions. How long had she been in practice? Had she provided counseling to patients presenting with Jim's diagnosis often? What progress had he made since his first session? He asked her to explain why Jim's mental health was not a factor in the court proceedings, and she rose to the occasion gracefully and with decorum.

But of course she would. This was the easy part.

All too soon, Jim's lawyer had no further questions, your honor, and Dr. Scott was D.A. Dent's witness.

Harvey Dent rose from his seat, smoothing over the crisp, black tie he paired with his smart grey-blue suit. From where he stood, he sent her an even but muted smile. "Thank you for joining us today, Dr. Scott," he said, his confident voice echoing throughout the courtroom. "I hope we haven't taken you away from any speaking engagements resulting from the bestseller you have out on the market."

It called attention to her level of expertise, which he'd no doubt done for the prosecution's benefit. But it was a kind note to start things on. She smiled to show she both understood and appreciated the sentiment. She chimed back, "It's been so long since it came out. Is it still in print?"

Their banter earned one or two chuckles from the stands, not because it was particularly funny but because it broke the hot tension of the courtroom.

From there, Dent immediately turned to business. "Could you remind the court of Jim Gordon's diagnosis, please?"

Madeline sent Jim a quick look before she returned to face D.A. Dent. "If I had my way, I wouldn't diagnose anyone, but insurance companies make me." She remained silent, and Dent waited patiently for her to answer the question. And she did, "I diagnosed Jim Gordon with post-traumatic stress disorder this past October."

The D.A. took a step toward Madeline. "It's my understanding that Jim Gordon didn't voluntarily seek out these sessions. What was Captain Barnes rationale for mandating that Detective Jim Gordon attend therapy?"

Dr. Scott answered, "He said that he wanted to take advantage of every resource at his disposal to ensure that Jim received support in his line of work."

Dent looked at her. "Was that all he said?"

Madeline smiled just slightly. "You know, D.A. Dent, I run a tape recorder in my sessions, but not outside of them." She dismissed his question with a flippant answer, but one that let him know that she understood the transition taking place.

"Dr. Scott, Captain Barnes ordered Jim Gordon into therapy just before his case regarding the death of Theo Galavan opened with internal affairs. Is that correct?"

She gave a short nod. "That is correct."

Lee sucked in a deep breath and slowly pressed it back out, holding her hands against her small but prominent baby bump. D.A. Dent was very good outside court, but he was phenomenal inside it. This was where he would build his case. Where he would attempt to substantiate irrefutable evidence of Jim's fragile mental state over the past few months.

Dent asked her. "According to what Jim Gordon has expressed to you in sessions, is the timing of Captain Barnes placing Detective Gordon in mandatory counseling, just before his case opened with internal affairs, significant?"

She sat up a little straighter and raised her voice. "I think it's significant that whenever someone challenges the status quo in Gotham that those in power immediately rush to silence them."

Gentle rumblings of quiet reactions stemmed through the courtroom. Beside Lee, Harvey Bullock shifted in place and made a short, uncomfortable noise. In front of her, Jim sat absolutely still and did not move. Breakfast jumped in her stomach.

The reactions from the gallery in the pews began to get out of hand and the judge loudly banged his gavel. "Quiet," he ordered. "I will have quiet for these proceedings."

Dent drew in a deep breath and kept his eyes on Madeline. "Your honor, witness is being argumentative."

The judge turned to her, "Dr. Scott, answer the questions you're asked."

She got back to the question but her voice was still clipped. "I don't know if the timing is significant. But when someone's innocence is brought into question when really they're not guilty, therapy is often needed in order for them to heal."

Dent ignored the point she tried to make. So much so that he feigned confusion over it. "Are you saying that Captain Barnes ordered Jim Gordon into therapy to help him cope with the results of the internal affairs case?" He looked down at his notes. "According to my documents, he ordered him into therapy before it was even opened."

Jim's lawyer called out, "Objection, your honor. Asked and answered."

Judge Gellar said, "Sustained. Get to your point, counsel."

Dent asked, "Was Jim Gordon's job performance affected in any way due to his symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder?"

She said, "I've seen quite a number of police officers for therapy over the years. The officers of this city see the stuff of nightmares and then they're sent right back into life or death situations as though nothing has changed. When really everything has changed." She said, "It's my opinion that Jim Gordon was an excellent employee, despite his work conditions. If anything, he only became even more efficient at his job, once he sought treatment."

D.A. Dent couldn't do much with the last part of her statement, so he focused on the first. "Are you saying that every single police officer in Gotham, not just Jim Gordon, but every one, can be diagnosed with post traumatic stress disorder before they've even been seen for treatment?"

"I've already told you," she said, her voice icing over. "I wouldn't diagnose anyone except insurance companies make me."

"You said that for the police officers in Gotham, 'everything has changed.'" He continued to latch onto the fallacy she floated into the ether. "Are you telling us that the trauma they _all_ experience on a daily basis inhibits their ability to serve and protect?"

Lee pursed her lips. Somewhere behind her she knew Captain Barnes was in the courtroom. Somewhere his face was turning an impressive shade of burgundy. Beside Lee, Harvey Bullock sighed a muttering 'here we go'.

With that, it appeared Madeline had enough. "I'm saying often when people experience trauma it goes untreated. And with the unchecked cycle of violence in this city, it's a city-wide problem."

Dent appeared to realize that he could use what was happening to drive his point home. He said loudly, incredulously, "Dr. Scott, are you now saying that _every_ person in Gotham is suffering from some sort of trauma?"

Madeline seemed to get a hold of herself just long enough to say, "I don't have a theory to back that up." She could have ended it there. It probably would have led to her just narrowly being allowed to step down from the stand. But then she raised her voice, "However, I have a much more disturbing theory on why some people are arrested and involved in proceedings like these while others, such as the mob bosses and career criminals of this city, are not." The crowd started up again, and she said even more loudly, "The message is chilling. 'How dare you hold up a mirror to us?' Anyone who stands up against them is silenced and disappeared from public view and memory. Sometimes they're even thrown into a prison cell." She addressed the court in a sharp tone of voice, "And we all know it."

The gavel banged down so hard that for a second, there was shocked silence. The judge called down, "Dr. Scott. You're hereby held in contempt of court." He looked over, "Bailiff, escort her out."

Dr. Scott seemed pleased by this, and she easily stepped down from the stand as the bailiff met her and placed handcuffs around her wrists. She turned to face the jury once more and said calmly but clearly, "Pay attention. This is what this is."

She was told again to be quiet and the jury was told to disregard her statement.

Lee's mouth fell open just slightly as she watched it all play out. She let out a deep breath as the bailiff led Madeline forward past the swinging wooden gate. She didn't look at Jim, and Lee knew why. Jim hated when criminals got away with their crimes more than anything, but two things he hated almost just as much were melodramatic media stunts and watching someone fall on a sword for him. And Madeline had just done both.

Lee caught her eye as she stepped to walk past. The doctor sent her a clear apologetic look.

And she didn't have to. The cameras were rolling inside the courtroom, and even if they weren't, Lee knew it would only hurt Jim if she said something. So she dipped her head down, put her hand up, and quietly mouthed, 'thank you' to her.

Madeline nodded for Lee to look behind her as she walked. When Lee turned her head, she saw Madeline's fingers crossed.

Immediately after she passed by them, Harvey Bullock placed his hat back on his head and hopped into place right behind her, following her out of the courtroom.

The courtroom fell silent, as per the judge's order. As the door opened, a veritable mob of reporters and cameramen met the bailiff, Dr. Scott, and Harvey Bullock as they stepped out into the wide marble hallway. Cameras flashed. Reporters yelled provoking questions.

'Do you believe Jim Gordon is innocent?' 'Will you talk about Captain Barnes and the unfit conditions under which GCPD detectives are working?' 'Were you implying that Carmine Falcone should be placed under arrest?'

The doors closed, sharply blocking the media circus out completely.

(x)

Safely ensconced in the musty but comfortable loft in Selina Kyle's current hideout, Bruce Wayne watched the court proceedings live on TV. He caught the look on Jim Gordon's face as the bailiff arrested Dr. Scott and led her out of the courtroom. All throughout the trial when the cameras showed Gordon's face, he looked like a beaten prizefighter, defeated and waiting to be led out of the ring. He looked somewhat aggravated now, which was a change, but not a good one.

Bruce frowned deeply, and immediately wished he hadn't done so. He held back a wince as he gently touched the bruises on his face. He'd received hits to the face before, but it seemed like these particular injuries were taking much longer to heal.

Cat stood, leaning against the window sill, crossing her arms, the picture of teenage rebellion. She gave a snort as she watched the doctor get arrested. "Well, that was pretty stupid."

Bruce kept his eyes on the screen. "She did it on purpose."

Cat smirked and declared, "That makes it even stupider."

"She wanted to get people talking about Gotham's corruption, instead of whether or not Jim Gordon's guilty of murder."

Selina looked to her left, squinted, and then looked right back at him. "... What makes you think anyone's gonna talk about that?"

He looked at her openly. "You and I are talking about it. Aren't we?"

"No," she answered back. "-You're- talking about it, and I don't know if you've noticed, kid. But -nobody- in this city talks like you."

Bruce gave her reply some consideration. Selina made a fair point. Dr. Scott challenged viewers to get on her level, but most of them wouldn't or just couldn't. She hadn't spoken her message in a way that would resonate with most people, and for the ones who did understand, she oversold it.

He spoke his next thought out loud, "She didn't hurt anything by doing it."

"No, but she did get an all expense paid trip to the drunk tank."

Bruce knew she collaborated with the GCPD, and he'd seen Detective Bullock follow her out. Ironically, after her impassioned speech about how some people went to jail and others did not, Bruce knew she'd be out of handcuffs before the ink dried on the sign-in sheet of the holding cell.

He asked Cat, "It's possible that what she did might help though, isn't it?"

She shrugged in a non-committal way. "This is Gotham, kid." She pushed herself off the side of the wall. "Anything's possible." As she walked back to the kitchen to get herself a glass of milk she shot back, "But I doubt it."

(x)

Madeline rubbed her wrists as she settled into the passenger seat in Harvey Bullock's car. To her left, Harvey took the wheel and drove them back out onto Gotham's city streets. They had only one exchange on the drive back to her office, and it was brief.

Harvey spoke with melodic sarcasm. "Sooooo... are you gonna share?"

"Share what?"

He looked over at her. "The bucket of crack you've been smoking."

She replied, "I stay away from the hard stuff. Though I did have a red bull and a sugar cookie before I got to the courthouse."

He nodded with feigned nonchalance before he postulated, "I'm guessin' you already mapped out what you were gonna do before you stepped up there."

"I had a general idea. Though I didn't really like telling Dent where he could shove it. He seems … practical, dogged. Honest." Then she added as an afterthought, "For a lawyer."

"You really think that was the smartest way to play that back there?"

"Not really," she immediately answered. "But it was the only thing I could think of to stop them from using his therapy against him." She said, "At least now, I'm the crazy one. Not him."

"It oughtta make for an interesting sidebar on the news tonight."

Unknowingly, she asked him the same question Bruce Wayne asked all the way on the other side of town. "You think any of it'll actually help?"

Harvey shrugged. Then he said, "I think it'll help you brush up on the ass-kissing tap dance routine you're gonna have to give the Cap once he calls you up into his office."

Madeline brushed away his words with a dismissive gesture. "Please. Barnes is even more fed up with the disgusting crap that goes down in this city than I am."

Harvey glanced at her knowingly and made his point. "You questioned Barnes' integrity up there and you did everything but accuse him of arresting Gordon on false pretenses. Oh, and you insinuated that the GCPD, you know the whole little public institution he runs, has sorta got blood on their hands."

They shared a glance they'd shared many times before. Madeline hummed loudly and looked away, because there was just no argument she could make against what he said. When they stopped at a light, she shrugged. "If I get fired, I get fired," she said, unbothered. "Won't be the first time."

Harvey gave a large nod, agreeing that 'no, it wouldn't be.'

Once they reached the front door of her office, Madeline scooped up her briefcase. After she closed the car door, she leaned in through the open window. "Oh, by the way." She grinned. "Thanks for the rescue."

"Take out your card. I'll give you your stamp."

She flounced away. "Oh, now we're keeping count?"

Harvey called after her, "Once you hit ten, the next one's free."


	2. Shake It Off

**Sending a big thank you to all of you who favorited and followed! It always makes my day to see these stories being read. I'll keep writing if you keep reading! Here's the next segment. Happy Wednesday, everyone!**

 **Quick head's up. This one's rated M: for a couple F-Bombs.**

(x)

The morning after Jim Gordon's sentencing came quickly. Madeline understood the stages of grieving all too well. Even after being bombarded by news story after news story reporting on his guilty verdict and prison sentence, she hadn't yet reached that first phase of denial. She was still in shock.

She walked through the doors of the GCPD, a little underwhelmed by how nothing on the surface had changed. Officers brought in suspects. Phones rang unanswered. Detectives chatted over cups of substandard coffee. To the untrained eye, it was just another day at the office.

On top of everything, she went and read the paper that morning. Right after reading about how Jim Gordon was thrown in jail for a crime he most certainly didn't commit, to her sheer delight on page seven she'd found the most scathing review anyone had ever given her book.

 _Spare yourself a few bucks by not buying this book that only demonstrates what is therapeutically baneful and full of groundless normative musings on every page._

 _Scott is obviously a woman who can't take good care of herself and is unable to detach her ego from the therapeutic process._

 _If I could give this no stars, I would._

That and it was due to rain buckets all day and night. It was always a pleasure to be reminded of the lingering injuries left by a long dead and buried psychopath. Already the joints in her leg were tuning up. There would be a symphony tonight of epic proportions.

On the upswing, it had been nearly a week since she made a scene in court and got herself in cuffs, and she was still technically employed at the moment. So far the working plan had been to only step inside the precinct if she absolutely had to. When she did show up, she avoided Barnes completely. Her plan of action was simple. If Barnes didn't see her, he couldn't fire her.

Madeline made her way through the center of the precinct, and her clicking heels came to a sudden halt as she stared forward to see Harvey Bullock slumped over his desk. He had an empty whiskey glass in his hand while an empty bottle perched precariously on the edge of his desk.

A spark of irritation caught fire inside her, lighting her up with anger. She clip-clopped loudly up the stairs and right up to his desk.

He'd face-planted onto the desktop, his ass propped up by his chair, his snores blaring out of him in that awful, complete way she remembered. Like a fork in the garbage disposal. His hat was askew on his head, showing off the graying edges of his otherwise reddish hair. He smelled like he hadn't showered in at least twenty-four hours, and it was clear he hadn't shaved in days.

Madeline breathed an irritated little sigh out through her gritted teeth like steam. She pushed the lip of the empty bottle of whiskey lightly, so that it teetered back and forth on his desk before coming to a full stop. Frowning down at Harvey, she picked up the bottle and slammed it noisily into the trashcan by his desk. She grabbed up the empty glass out of his hand and with a 'fuck it' shrug she chucked that into the trashcan as well, causing it to noisily hit and crack apart, glass on glass.

Harvey didn't even pause mid-snore.

Madeline screwed up her face and smacked him hard in the shoulder. "Wake up," she growled down at him.

He let off a half-conscious groan before he rolled his face away from her and smacked it back down with a dull 'thud' on the desk.

She hit him again, this time with both hands. "I said, WAKE UP!"

He didn't budge, only muttered out, "Get off my jock. Damn woman... Knock it off... Let me sleep..." He snored freshly, short but loud.

She bristled, as it got up every hair on her back. Then she decisively marched over to the water cooler, poured herself a full cup, and stormed back to him. The second she reached him, Madeline hauled back and chucked the ice cold water into his face.

Harvey barked a loud noise of surprise and shot up so fast that he almost fell out of his chair. He caught himself on his desk and shook the water off of himself, like a dog getting out of the tub. "For the love of all that's holy what..." He ran a hand down his face and he squinted up at Madeline, who frowned down at him.

His shoulders fell and he groaned. Aggravation took the place of surprise as he stared upon a visage that she knew he'd seen many times before. He rolled his eyes and yelled up at her. "What the ... What the hell is your damage?"

"Me? What the hell is -my- damage?"

He grumbled as he worked to sit up straight. "Last I checked, I didn't order one of your fun little wake up calls."

"Oh, yeah? Well, somebody has to wake you up," she shot back accusingly. "You're asleep at the wheel."

He ran his hands over his face and muttered something about charging her with aggravated assault and theatrics and writing her a ticket for reckless over-exaggerating.

She raised her voice, though it was still a biting whisper. "You need to get on your feet, wash the booze off your face, and get your ass to work. We don't have time for you to have a fucking relapse."

A loud blaring voice echoed throughout the parapets of the station. "Dr. Scott."

She looked up to see Captain Barnes standing outside his office, arms crossed, a dangerous look in place. "My office. Now."

Madeline's shoulders dropped as Barnes pivoted back around and headed straight back into his office. An annoyed sigh escaped from between her lips while at the same time she dug around in her purse. She pulled out a bottle of Advil and a half a roll of Tums and slammed both down on Harvey's desk right beside him.

"Take these and drink some coffee." As she walked away, she gave him her last parting words, "And do us all a favor. Get your shit together."

Madeline hurried away from his desk and came to a stop right at the entrance to Barnes' office.

She sighed, squared her shoulders, and stepped into his office, shutting the door behind her.

(x)

Captain Barnes rarely looked happy, and when he talked, it always sort of sounded like he was speaking through a megaphone. That morning as Madeline sat across from his desk he had both of his most dominant traits dialed up to the max.

"-Think the media isn't stirred up enough in this town with Gordon found guilty of killing a cop? No, that wasn't enough. You just had to go and give them one more way to drag the GCPD's reputation straight down into the mud!" When Madeline opened her mouth to talk, he said, "I've got reporters, newscasters, and politicians breathing down my neck, asking me what we're going to do about the police department's PTSD epidemic that's apparently hit our entire staff, calling me - That's right, ME - negligent, self-involved, and unconcerned about the mental health of my officers." He threw up white sheets of paper into the air. "That and I've got about fifteen requests for trauma-induced workman's comp littering my desk!"

Madeline drew in a breath as she watched the papers lazily float back down.

Barnes' face reddened as he pointed down to her. "Now, what the hell have you got to say for yourself?"

She replied easily, "I have no guilt or misgivings about how I handled the matter in court. If that's what you're asking."

He paused momentarily, mouth half-open. He licked his lips before he said calmly, "That's cute. That's real cute." Then he drew up and yelled at her with twice the fury, "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kick your ass to the curb right now!"

She raised her voice, because she figured she might have to in order to get him to actually listen to her. "You need me here in this precinct for the exact same reason that you want to show me the door." He didn't immediately bray something back, so she continued, "I'm not here to please people in power. I'm here to do my job and call attention to what's really happening even when it makes those in power uncomfortable or reflects poorly on them."

Barnes glared down at her. "That includes telling an entire courtroom that I run a shoddy operation here? That my men and women don't get the support they need to do their jobs-"

"You're right, okay?" she frankly admitted. "I was out of line. I said whatever I had to say to protect my client. Some of my words got twisted, but the truth is? I caused whatever media circus I could up in there so that Gordon might not be any more humiliated than he had to be. And I'd do it again for any other client of mine, even if it means embarrassing this precinct." She said, "So you come second. That's just the way it is."

Barnes said crisply, "If this job is getting in the way of you properly serving your client base, then it's clear that you don't need the added pressure of having to work here."

Madeline actually found herself calming and her voice becoming softer. "If you need to fire me, because you need to divorce yourself from things I've said, I can understand that." She crossed her arms. "But that's not going to stop me from calling out the officials in this city that are shadier than a box of crayons underneath a beach umbrella. I did it six years ago in Blackgate and I've done it here in this station. And if I can't keep doing it here, I'll find some other government office and do it from there. You can try to blackball me from from working in other institutions around this city, but it won't work. I'll just find another way."

Barnes sat back, watching her. "You're so good at finding loopholes and back doors? Tell me this. How the hell am I supposed to keep you here in good conscience after all the crap you spewed up there on that witness stand?"

She tried a little shrug as she sat back in her own seat. "You suspend me, for a week or two. You'll say whatever biting, sarcastic, maybe true things you want in some public fashion about how I'm a loose cannon who mouthed off without any facts to back me up. Then I make a public apology. A humble one. An honest one. I'll even try not to lay it on too thick, so they might actually buy it."

He narrowed his gaze at her. "Now why am I not surprised to hear that you want to keep this media dance number in full swing?"

She ignored the jibe. "It'll be forgotten, just like every other piece of shit news on TV, and then we'll do what we do best. We'll get back to work."

He looked to the side and breathed out a hard sigh. Madeline hoped that meant that he was actually considering her words.

She decided one more point couldn't hurt her. She looked at him carefully as she said, "You'll find another forensic psychologist to replace me. They'll be good, maybe even better than I am, where it counts. And they'll be way less of a pain in your ass. But they won't give you what you really need."

Barnes squinted at her. He waited almost a minute before he said, "I'm guessing that this is the part where you're going to enlighten me as to what that might be."

"You need people like me," she said. "And like Harvey Bullock-"

"Harvey Bullock is a drunk who consorts regularly with prostitutes when he's not dodging work or completely disregarding direct orders," he threw back at her. "Now, if you think I need any more of-"

"You need Jim Gordon," she said more loudly, cutting him off. "Unfortunately, none of us are going to get to have him here, not for awhile." When she watched what she said hit the Captain, she tried to make herself sound softer, "No matter what I said in court, you've done the impossible in this precinct. You cleaned house and hauled out as many crooked cops from this station as any one person could. Which no one else has been able to do before now. I watched Essen try to do it. And she couldn't."

Then something wonderful happened. For a moment, Barnes was quiet.

Madeline said, "Now, when I see egregious corruption go down here and sleazy cops pulling all sorts of revolting criminal shit I can't stand, I'm not going to bring it to your door and I'm not going to let you handle it." His eyebrows went up, and she continued, "I'm going to make a public display and deal with it myself. Because I'm angry and because it's gone on for far too long."

He honed in on something then. His voice went down an octave. "You ever stop to think about how that might make you a target-"

"I don't care," she breathed out, sounding tired and frustrated. "And what's more, I don't think I ever have."

Barnes sat up straight at his desk and leaned over, folding his hands. Madeline tried not to pay attention to the flip-flopping of her stomach.

He gave her a long look of consideration before he said, "You'll stay here working strictly on probationary status until I say otherwise. You will make no public apology and you will no longer go to the media with -anything- having to do with this station. If I see your name in the same sentence as GCPD, if I hear one sound bite, if I even get a whiff that maybe you're thinking about going to the press with anything, you're done."

Madeline nodded curtly before she said, "Understood."

"And you'll watch your attitude," he said. "And let's get one thing straight, just so this is made emphatically clear. This is not your office, where you can do whatever you please. You're under my roof. So I say what happens when. You got that?"

She sucked in a deep breath, calming her first instinct to fire something back, and made herself say, "Fully gotten."

He watched her like he might a carpet snake. "Good." He looked up to the door and said with finality, "You're excused."

Dr. Scott stood up and walked over to the door. She put her hand on the doorknob and turned back to address him once more. "I know you already have this impression of who you _think_ Harvey Bullock is." He looked up at her, and she said, "But you need to ask yourself. Who was keeping Jim Gordon alive -before- you got here?" She shot him an intense stare. "Because most the time? I bet it wasn't Jim Gordon."

She left, closing the door behind her.


	3. Baker Street

**As always thank you so much for reading! It gives me an excuse to let Harv & Maddie run wild for a little bit longer. And any excuse in that department is a good excuse for me. :) Hope everyone's weekend is off to a good start.**

 **Rated M: for only one F-Bomb? How 'bout that. What would I do without the "Find…" button on google docs? (I'd say this is proof that they're cleaning up their act, but … we all know they're not.)**

(x)

Harvey Bullock trudged back out of the locker rooms after splashing more cold water on his face. A veritable cloud of AXE body spray hung stale in the air around him. When he reached his desk, he knocked five Advil out of the container and swallowed them down with the splash of water left in the paper cup Madeline chucked in his face.

He crunched through the rest of the tums she left behind, shaking his head.

The one day - **the one day** \- he gets himself hammered, and she jumps down his throat for it. Nevermind the month or so of keeping sober enough to walk into court with Gordon and the doc each day. He huffed a humorless laugh to himself. She told him he didn't have time for a relapse. He decided to take that as a backhanded compliment. At least in order to have a relapse you first had to have attained some sort of period of sobriety first.

Harvey squinted his eyes shut as the muffled sounds of Madeline and the Cap's screaming match pounded through his skull. He plopped back down at his desk and massaged his face, trying to ease his hangover.

… What the hell was he supposed to do? He'd just gotten some pretty devastating news dropped on his head. He watched his partner step out of that prison van chained in irons, a husk of the man he used to be. Gordon walked straight into the center of Blackgate into a mob filled with a couple hundred men, give or take, that he put in there himself. Some less than a month ago. His partner was meatdust. Plain and simple.

Harvey groaned. Goddammit, he wanted a drink. Scratch that, he didn't just want a drink. He wanted the whole bottle all over again.

He rolled his eyes to himself. And now here comes Madeline. Yapping a bunch of crap like always and trying to make him feel bad. There's a shocker. He wanted to tell her to worry a little less about his poor life choices and give a little more thought to her own.

He glanced over his shoulder as the sounds of shouting ceased up in Barnes' office. Maybe that meant she was straying from her usual 'fuck however this reflects on (insert crazy powerful bureaucratic power structure here)' and playing the game. Maybe, just maybe, covering her tight little ass for once. You know, just to shake things up.

All of a sudden, he heard the door of the Captain's office close loudly, and he glanced over to see Madeline, red-faced, heading back toward her office.

Or, you know, not. If she hadn't busted up his whiskey glass, he would have held it up to her in tribute. Welp, there you have it, folks. Put another notch in her lipstick case. Once again, Dr. Madeline Scott got herself shitcanned.

The day was just getting better and better.

The door banged open, and Captain Barnes called down to him. "Detective Bullock. A moment of your time, please."

Harvey released a sarcastically content sigh and pushed himself up to his feet.

He guessed that meant he was next on the chopping block. Maybe after this, he and Maddie could skim through the help wanted ads together. Just like old times.

(x)

Harvey Bullock took his time getting himself up to the Captain's office, as he wasn't particularly in a rush to get himself fired.

Barnes glanced up at him from his desk, looking about as fed up with him as usual. "Get the door," he said to him.

Harvey obliged him and sat down in the hot seat. He sighed out, still feeling a bubble of alcohol raging and pulsing just behind his left eye. He started thinking about how throwing up might make him feel better. Maybe he'd get on that whenever Barnes was through with him. Maybe after that he wouldn't feel like he was riding shotgun on the tilt-a-whirl.

Barnes announced, "I'm assigning you a new case."

He blinked in mild surprise. "Okay," he found himself saying.

His captain handed him a heavy folder. "A tranny hooker was found dead in a hotel by the 10th Street Cafe. No fingerprints. No witnesses. No one's come forward to ID the body."

He flipped through the pages. Check, check, check, and check. He wondered if it would save everyone some time if they just started calling those sorta standard crime scenes the Harvey Bullock Special.

Barnes added, "Multiple stab wounds through the body, with the knife left stuck down inside the chest cavity. It's the same MO as one of the last cases you went and closed a week ago."

Harvey frowned. "We already busted the killer on that one," he said flatly. "Scuzzbag cokehead dealer killed the hooker and took the drugs-"

"Right, the drug dealer did it. It's a very popular tagline of yours," Barnes shot back at him. "Right up there with 'the husband did it.'"

He managed not to roll his eyes. It wasn't his fault that shit was Cop 101. He was like his mother. He stereotyped. It was a time saver. He would've shared the wisdom of it with Barnes, but he was beginning to think that if he just kept his mouth shut he might get to kept his badge and his paycheck after all.

Barnes said, "Re-open the last case with the dead call girl that was found on Baker Street killed with the same type of weapon and found in the exact same crime scene. The way I see it, we've got the beginning shades of a serial killer here."

Harvey said, mostly to himself, "That oughtta keep my nights full."

He said in an aggravated voice, "It'll give you an excuse to put your prostitute CI connections to work and a legitimate reason to skulk around in Gotham's red-light district. For once."

Harvey said, "I'll get right on it." and didn't say, _Just let me grab my nipple clamps._

As he stood up, Barnes looked at him overtop of his reading glasses. "Oh, and take Alvarez with you."

His shoulders dropped and he argued, "Alvarez's got enough cases he's mucking up just by walking upright and breathing. He'll just get in the way-"

"He goes with you. Or you can go by yourself and leave your badge on my desk."

 _All right, Uncle Fester. Give my regards to Mrs. Clean._ Harvey gave a nod. He tried to make what he said next sound on the level and above-board, "Whatever you say, Cap."

He got about halfway there.

After that fun little shared experience, Harvey chucked aside the file Barnes handed him and got down to more time-sensitive matters. The dead call girls could wait. The way he figured it, the dead were dead. When you saw dead bodies as often as he did, you realized how useless the dead were. As far as he knew, for the moment, Jim Gordon was still on the right side of the dirt. If he was going to stay that way, he needed help of the serious sort.

Harvey got on the horn to every bureaucratic guard dog who would give him the time of day, trying to figure out what paperwork needed to be filed, what smooth talk he needed to sugar up and down out of his lips, and what palms needed to be greased to get Gordon out from behind prison bars.

(x)

Madeline pulled up her skirt and rested her left leg atop a desk chair with two throw pillows stacked on top of it. She made a short noise of discomfort as she positioned an icepack on her thigh and tried to think unswollen thoughts.

Outside the wind gusted and rain ratcheted against the window pane. According to the weather, it would be daybreak before the storm would let up.

She ran her hand through her hair and began proofreading a criminal profile she only just finished writing, when she heard loud boots stomp up the hall to her open door. She glanced up from the file to see Harvey Bullock poking his head inside her office. His hat held droplets of rainwater, and his hair was wet, no doubt from running through Gotham's streets in the downpour.

He gazed around at her desk, walls, file cabinet, and throw rug, appearing to take it all in. "Looks like you still got your degrees up on the wall."

She smirked a little and nodded to him. "And you've still got your badge on your belt." She set aside the file, letting it slap down onto her desktop. "So are you done bemoaning your hangover and swearing that you'll never have another drink again for the rest of your life-"

"You mind givin' it a rest?" he bit back at her. "If it's all the same, I'd like to go back to just _feeling_ you judge me, okay? It's palpable."

Her shoulders dipped at his words. When she caught his eye, she said in a soft voice, "Look, I know it sucks, okay?" She paused, her mouth open, before she said, "I just … I know."

He stared away then, jaw stiff.

Madeline knew when it came to gloom and doom that Harvey was a seasoned pro, but that didn't make his grief any less genuine or striking. If anything, it made it more so. The air between them grew thick with all the things neither of them were willing to speak aloud.

He stepped further inside and motioned to the pillows and icepack. "How's the leg?"

"It acts up when it rains. Or when it doesn't. It's fine." Then she shifted, asking him sincerely, "How are you?"

He expelled a hard breath against his closed lips. "Got a brand spankin' new bitch of a case. Right along with new orders to train Alvarez."

"Well, somebody's gotta have all the fun."

"Every time he opens his mouth, I can feel my IQ dropping. He's walking brain death."

She listened to the rain hammering against the window and she brought them back to the topic he attempted to avoid. "I tried to get myself signed up to visit him."

Harvey squinted at her and quickly put two and two together. "I'm guessin' that means you made the no-fly list."

She nodded sadly. "I am hereby banned from ever setting foot in Blackgate again. Grey probably put that in effect going back six years ago. I just never had any reason to check on it until now."

He had the audacity to look vaguely relieved to hear she couldn't step back inside, which sort of made Madeline want to slap him.

She expelled a long, frustrated breath. "It's bullshit. He shouldn't have gone to jail."

"Yeah, well, we don't live in 'Should Land.'"

"I know what goes on in that shithole they call a prison," she said. "He can't stay in there, Harv."

He leaned forward slightly. "You think I don't know that?"

She looked up at him. "What're we going to do?"

"We?" he echoed. "-We- aren't doin' anything. You're gonna leave this business to me."

There were those spoken edicts she didn't miss. Madeline only half-rolled her eyes.

They fell into another uneasy silence. Harvey broke it. "You must've figured out the magic words to say up in Barnes' office."

"It was a little more complex than 'open sesame.'" She smiled wryly. "But it appears I shall live to see yet another thrilling GCPD work day."

He nodded to her. "How'd you con him into keeping you on payroll?"

"I told him he would never find anyone who would be a bigger pain in his left cheek than I am," she said. "And I magnanimously agreed to no longer drag his name or the GCPD through the media mud, cross my heart and hope to be pink-slipped."

"Whatever dance routine you did up there, you'll have to draw it out in an Arthur Murray diagram for me. So I might have some new moves the next time he calls my ass in there."

"Just lip off and talk back." She shrugged. "Works for me."

"Yeah, well, not all of us look cute as kitten britches when we do it."

Madeline huffed a short laugh. "You want to borrow my makeup kit? You could get all gussied up. I brought extra eye-liner if you want it. I could give you those smoky eyes."

"Thanks but no thanks. Just because I gotta pucker up and kiss it doesn't mean I gotta wear a fresh shade of lipstick." He took a step toward the door and then turned back. "You gettin' home okay?"

"Just like every other day."

Harvey was about to take off, when he paused for a moment in her doorway. "Oh, I, uh…" He cleared his throat. "I saw the paper today…"

Madeline blinked at him and quickly brushed the words away. "Oh, you know. It doesn't matter." She said, "Just because I wrote a book doesn't mean they have to like it."

"Well, actually, I saw about five or six hundred papers," he said. "They got whole stacks of 'em that didn't sell down by the docks. They're gonna use 'em to wrap up the fish in the morning." He sent her a brash grin as he took his leave. "Guess that's all they're good for."

Before she could try to stop herself, a wide, full smile broke across her face, and her cheeks blushed just as Harvey left her office. As she got back to work, she listened to his footsteps clump away, grow faint, and disappear altogether.


	4. Hello Dolly!

**Wow, thanks for the reviews! They made my day! :) A big thank you also goes out to everyone out there reading. Thanks for keeping up with this!**

 **I was all excited -not- to mark this "M for Mature", but ... it's M for Mature. Or at least, Bullock's section is. Gordon's section is, as usual, squeaky clean. (Oh, Jim. Ever the gentleman. How I missed writing you.)**

(x)

Harvey groaned to himself. The receiver of his phone was becoming one with his ear.

Your call is very important to us. Please enjoy the next forty-five minutes of this penny-whistle solo of "My Heart Will Go On". Little fun fact: if you're a real rat bastard to everyone all your life, you'll get to hear the exact same song playing on repeat in hell. It made him long for the days when an actual human being would answer the phone. Progress wasn't always a good thing.

He tried to surrender himself to settling in and waiting. (A woman's voice that sounded like two valiums and one quaalude again reminded him that his call was very important to them.) Both because he had no other alternative and also because if he ever wanted to see Gordon set foot outside Blackgate, there were just certain things that needed to be done. This was one of them.

Above him he heard familiar echoing laughter. Madeline stood with Barnes right outside his office door, both of them leaning against the wall, sharing some kind of joke. Harvey made a grumbling sound as he held the receiver up to his ear and turned away. ...Nice to see everybody getting along around here lately.

Not a second later, Ed Nygma popped into his eye-line. All Nygma needed was a green hat with a couple short antennae and he could be the GCPD's version of the Great Gazoo. His sudden appearance wasn't heart-attack inducing enough for Harvey to threaten his life, at least not this time around.

Ed asked, "Detective, are you … are you on a call-"

"I'm on hold." Harvey added, "Again. What do you want, Ed?"

He handed him a slip of paper. "I ran diagnostics on the massage oil the killer used on both call girls. It's Benzoin essential oil. A little too rare to be picked up at your local drug store. The suspect would have to order it online."

Harvey accepted the paper. "Got it. Thanks for the rundown."

He detailed, "From what I could ascertain, it comes from a Balsam tree in the Middle East. Used in cleansing rituals in medieval times. At least, that's the only time I've ever heard of it being used."

Madeline's high-pitched laughter once again broke through the everyday hustle and bustle of the station. Harvey squinted over at her and muttered to himself. "What… the hell are they laughing about?"

Ed answered automatically, "Life threatening injuries to their arteria femoralis."

Harvey arched an eyebrow at Nygma in reply as the spaced-out feminine voice over the line reminded him, 'Your call is very important to us.'

Ed looked over at them and said frankly, "I don't get it."

That meant he and Nygma were finally on the same page. He decided that was a pretty chilling red flag as to the direction his life was currently taking.

Ed drew up suddenly and asked in a high-pitched voice, "Is there any more news on … Jim Gordon and his very unfortunate sentence in Blackg-"

"They dropped my call." Harvey sat bolt upright as he listened to a sudden blaring, beeping dial tone. He pulled back the receiver to look at it. "My call is important to you? Right, my call is so goddamn important to you that some robot on a satellite in outer space disconnects me after I've been waiting here, getting hemorrhoids and listening to the Titanic soundtrack, for the past forty-five minutes!" He slammed down the phone on its cradle, setting off a short 'brring'. "Flame-broiled cock-knocking automated piece of donkey shit."

Ed backed away out of pure habit, leaving Harvey to hunch over and pinch his fingers on the bridge of his nose.

That's it. It was officially fuck this shit 'o clock. He'd go down to city hall tomorrow in person. Maybe then he could talk to someone that wasn't tape-recorded.

When he pulled his hand away from his face, he looked up to see Captain Barnes staring down his nose at him. "Where are we with taking down this escort-stabbing serial killer?"

Harvey wanted to tell him that two deaths didn't technically constitute a serial killing, but he could already hear Barnes telling him that wiseass remarks like that didn't technically mean he had to work there anymore. He said, "We got some diagnostics back on a massage oil found on both the bodies. We're looking into it. Other than that, no different than the last time you asked me."

"And what're you doing to change that?"

He said, "Let me find Alvarez. We'll get on it. We'll pull in this dirtball before you can say 'mamasan.'"

Barnes frowned. "That some kind of cat-house slang?"

"I think it means you want ginger with your sushi." Harvey hoped to Christ that Barnes would use it the next time he went to order lunch at the Dancing Shrimp sushi bar. Then he'd learn how to properly ask for a 'happy ending for my dingle' in Gotham.

He eyed him, saying, "Get on the ball with this thing. I want an update on my desk first thing tomorrow morning."

"You got it, boss."

As Barnes took his leave, Harvey scooped up the report Nygma left on his desk, got to his feet, and went looking for Alvarez. He was suddenly thankful that he wasn't alone in this investigation. If somebody was gonna get blamed for there being no movement on this bullshit murder case, it wasn't going to be him.

(x)

Madeline's heels clicked as she headed back to her office. She was about to step through her door, when she saw a flash of a familiar white lab coat. Dr. Lee Thompkins rushed past before disappearing back into the lab, barely sparing a second outside closed doors.

Madeline understood why. Nobody knew what to say to her. What had happened to Jim Gordon (and by proxy to her) made everyone uncomfortable, so they avoided her. Now Lee caught on and was avoiding them right back. Madeline would have walked into the M.E. Lab and addressed the issue herself. … Except even with all her wanton post-graduate education on how to effectively communicate, she didn't have the first idea what to say either.

She might have shrugged a 'whatever' and improvised anyway, except Detective Alvarez caught her right at the door of her office.

He walked up to her saying, "Hey. It's … Madeline, right?"

"Yes, it is." _I can understand your confusion. After all, we've only known each other for seven years._ It said everything she needed to know about where she fell on Alvarez's radar.

"Have you got a minute? I want to, like, float something by you."

Madeline squinted at him but allowed him into her office with an uncertain, "... Okay."

Alvarez illustriously presented his proposition, and she immediately narrowed her gaze, looking at him over the top of her glasses. She repeated, "You want me to dress up like … a prostitute?"

He opened wide his hands. "Well, we'd pay you."

"You want to _pay me_ … to dress up like a prostitute?"

At that moment, Harvey popped his head into the office. "Here you are," he said to Alvarez. "Been looking all over the goddamn office."

Alvarez looked over at her. "So, is that like a …" He weighed his hands in 'yes-or-no' question.

"No. Thank you," Madeline said definitely. She looked at Harvey and got him up to speed. "Alvarez here is suggesting that I get out more and be part of the community by monetizing my sexuality and walking the streets."

Harvey's shoulders dropped and he rolled his eyes. He pointed his flattened hand to Madeline. "So that's it?" he snapped at him. " _That's_ your big idea you were so fuckin' excited about?"

Alvarez's eyes widened in aggravation. "Look, all our regular undercover girls have had their T and A out on the street way too long. They're gettin' made left and right. I've got Barnes riding my ass about this."

Harvey shot a look at Madeline, one she knew well. A 'these are the idiots I work with.'

Alvarez kept complaining, "He keeps saying we get need to get on the ball. Don't drop the ball. Keep the balls in the air."

Madeline made a dramatic show of rolling her eyes. She'd officially lost her patience for men and their balls. Not that she'd ever had much patience in the first place.

Alvarez said, "He's sayin' we gotta think outside the box."

Harvey rested his hands on his belt. "How 'bout he's saying 'don't fuck up'?"

Madeline suddenly stood with her posture and stance fully straightened. She drew near and asked them, "So … is this regarding the case with the steak knives and the call girls?"

Harvey nodded. "One dead lady of the evening and one dead chick with a dick of the evening." He said, "Must be one of those open-minded, equal opportunity murder-rapists."

"More like it's just the opposite," she said. "With all that rage, blood, and self-hate, you're looking for someone _deeeeeep_ down in that closet." But she spoke in a distracted tone. She made a loud humming sound of consideration, and slowly, she circled Alvarez in a close inspection tour.

Alvarez flinched. "What the…What's this? ...Why're you doin' that?"

Madeline looked up at Harvey. "You said one identified as transgendered, right?" She shrugged and smiled widely.

Harvey caught on and cackled out a laugh.

For a long moment, Alvarez frowned in confusion. Then he sprung to life, sputtering, "What? No. Uh-uh. No freakin' way."

She blinked her eyes with doe-eyed innocence. "Hey, now. Don't get all offended. I'm just floating something by you."

Harvey pointed to him. "Hey, you're the one who brought up this shit in the first place."

Alvarez threw up his hand at Harvey. "No. This is -your- case. If anybody's gonna cross dress and go undercover it's gonna be you."

Harvey put up both his hands. "Wait a minute. You're gonna want to think this one through. I don't know about you, but I ain't lookin' to meet the mope that'd have me in a dress for a fetish."

Alvarez shouted, "Have you seen the pink sequined pieces of crap we got in the back? This isn't happening."

"Now, now," Madeline said, drawing out the words. "The pin-up girls of Gotham are in danger. They need your help." She added, "And you know…anything old can be made new again. With the right pair of shoes."

Harvey let loose another long laugh. He clapped Alvarez on the shoulder and started to lead him out. "C'mon. Let's go 'float' this past Barnes."

Madeline's eyes widened once again before she said, "He's gonna just _love_ it."

"Of course, he will." Harvey's voice sounded like warm honey on Sunday pancakes. "It's your idea. He'll just eat it up."

She smirked at him as she threw on her suit jacket and grabbed up her briefcase.

Alvarez was already down the hall and loudly called back, "This is the worst cockamamie scheme I've ever heard."

Madeline addressed Harvey, not Alvarez. "That's baloney. All my cockamamie schemes are pure genius."

Down the hall, Alvarez bitched and moaned about how he didn't even have a dress size, when Harvey nodded to her. "Where you hurryin' off to? Dr. Phil doesn't come on 'til four."

She passed by him saying, "Got a session. If you need any help with the fashion show, let me know."

Harvey sent her a quick flash of his cynical, saucy smile as he turned heel to follow after Alvarez. As he left, Madeline swept an assessing eye over him as he stalked away. He walked with swagger, with clout, like a man commanding respect.

He could no longer be found in the bottom of a bottle. He was back.

(x)

Jim Gordon woke up to feel the ache in his back and the crick in his neck screaming silent obscenities. He ate his breakfast that was gray and tasteless and had the consistency of glue. Then he hunkered down in the laundry room, washing sheets and inmates' clothes that reeked of every foul smell his prison mates' bodies made.

The whole time he did it, he kept his head down, avoiding all eye contact. He didn't look directly at the guards and he especially didn't look at the other inmates, many of whose colorful criminal pursuits were put on permanent hiatus after he cuffed them in bracelets. Even looking away, he still caught their dagger death glares in his peripheral vision. Their hatred was naked, up front, and filled with icy resignation. Some of the men shooting him murderous looks he recognized. Others he didn't. He guessed some of the prisoners at Blackgate were simply beating the rush, starting to hate him now before he gave them a compelling enough reason.

To keep his mind off the imminent, ever present threat of attack, Jim did every task assigned to him with complete focus and absolute precision. On some level he recognized that it was all merely a distraction, a philosophical sleight of hand to keep his mind from snapping like a dry twig.

Every hour on the hour, he wondered if he could keep it up for the whole day. For the whole month.

For the next forty years.

Then he acted a slavemaster to his mind and put his nose back to the grindstone. Aching back, breakfast, run around the yard, lunch, laundry room, dinner, (look at the blissfully smiling picture of Lee, hold the image of her and their child in his mind's eye, push the image back into the deep closet of his subconscious), try to sleep. Repeat.

That was the drill. Except for today.

There were two things that deviated from his norm that afternoon.

After hearing the sniffles, coughs, and nasally voices all around him, he knew it was only a matter of time. Jim caught his first prison cold. Whatever virus hung stale in the air, the strain was a nasty one. Outside the 'cooler' in the 'free world', Jim never took a decongestant, cough syrup, or even an aspirin if he could help it. Something about taking over-the-counter meds always felt like cheating.

Now with only crack, adderall, heroin, and toilet hooch readily available from your local pharmaceutical rep on every corner, he suddenly wished he'd taken more advantage of the medicinal wonders of the outside world.

If he had anything to give, and he didn't, he would have given it up for a hot cup of tea and some cold medication.

So there was that.

Also Wilson Bishop, one of Blackgate's veteran prison guards, took him gently by the arm and steered him back into an older, closed off section of the prison past F Wing. The hallways and rooms had been shut down for either construction or condemnation, Jim couldn't say for sure.

Decay was the first word that came to mind. The hallway was more than falling apart. It looked like scene from a war newsreel. Frankfurt after the Allies broke through enemy lines and gained ground. Even though it no longer held inmates and guards walking up and down its floors, it still smelled distinctly of B.O. and sour eggs, as did every other part of Blackgate.

Jim would have been concerned about the sudden change in schedule, except Wilson stood out as the only openly human prison guard he'd met so far. And Wilson knew Bullock. This was a check-in from his no-longer-technically-a-partner, despite Harvey's adamant assertion otherwise.

Wilson stopped in front of a closed door, looked at Jim, and opened it.

He stepped forward into the room, expecting to see Harvey leaning comfortably, rogue-style against the far wall.

Instead, he saw Dr. Madeline Scott dressed in a starched, sleek top and pencil skirt, sitting pertly in an aluminum chair behind a flimsy upright folding table. A second empty aluminum chair sat across from her, and two steaming cups of coffee sat on the tabletop.

Jim felt the stages happen. He stared at her with shock, then aggravation, then concern.

"Hello, Jim," Madeline said.

The block of ice in his stomach began to melt. "Madeline," he said through his teeth. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here for your session." She waved a vague hand at the styrofoam cup to her left. "Coffee?"


	5. Should I Stay or Should I Go?

**Thanks to those of you who favorited/followed this time around! I really missed writing therapy sessions with Jim. I know Madeline's glad to be back in therapy, too. I'm having a good time playing in Gotham's sandbox. I hope you're all enjoying reading it as much as I am writing it. Happy Friday! And thanks again for keeping up with this story! :)**

(x)

Jim Gordon stood there in the room, giving no reply, while behind him Wilson Bishop shut the door. He heard the click of the guard's sharp, booted footsteps disappearing back the way they came.

She looked him up and down. "How've you been holding up?"

His voice hardened when he asked again. "Madeline, what are you doing here?"

"I told you," she said. "I'm here for your session."

"You can't be here. You need to leave. Now." He spoke in a voice that could not be disobeyed.

...Except that it could be. "Jim, I'm not going anywhere." She gave him a calm, patient look. Underneath her chair, she delicately crossed her ankles. "C'mon. Sit. Drink your coffee."

Jim sat down, quickly. Then he reached across the table and gently but firmly took her hand at the wrist.

Madeline looked down at her hand and shot him a look of what could have been misconstrued as alarm. Her reaction spoke volumes. Even the smallest outreach from him was more shocking to her than her trespassing into a prison that held the most dangerous criminals in Gotham.

He said, "I appreciate everything you've done for me. But I'm not letting you do this." He spoke in a voice he regularly used on the job. "That's why you're getting out of here. Right now."

She remained still, watching him. She sunk down just slightly, and Jim thought he knew why. She was figuring out what taking her hand was about. It wasn't done out of affection. It was done so she would leave and never come back.

She settled back into pure therapist-mode. She didn't move her hand. "How are you sleeping?"

They sat awkwardly, neither of them budging. Then Jim pulled back his hand. He said, "Just fine."

She repeated a question. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm fine."

Madeline sent him an even stare. "If you want to tell everyone else that you're fine, that's your call. But don't try selling it to me. Not in here."

Jim's face fell into a look of gruff chagrin. A thought struck him and he dryly changed the subject. "Does Harvey know you're here?"

He watched the words take effect. Her voice became all business. "That's... irrelevant, as far as you and I are concerned. Though, of course, whatever you decide to tell others or not to tell them about your therapy is up to you."

Jim nodded curtly to himself. So, no.

She stared back, in that bland way she often did, patiently awaiting his next response.

He considered taking off, heading back the way he came. But knowing Madeline she'd try to follow him. That meant noise. Noise meant attention. He was fairly certain that Bishop was keeping close by, but he couldn't say for sure. In Blackgate, the rules he lived by were black and white. Staying alive depended on absolute certainties.

With a frustrated sigh, Jim settled into his seat. Across from him, she drank from her coffee cup. Even though his nose was stuffed up, the strong scent still broke through. It was the gourmet coffee from down the street at the precinct, dark roast. He closed his eyes as he had a thought Madeline wanted him to have. … If he didn't drink the coffee now while it was hot, it could potentially be decades before he'd get his next cup.

He kept his arms crossed and set himself in stone.

Madeline set down her cup. "I have a weird question to ask you, if you'll allow it." She looked at him. "What's Lee's favorite type of flower?"

She used an older-than-the-hills interrogation tactic. Get them talking about something, anything, preferably something they wanted to talk about. Once you get that first word out of them, you're in.

He remembered his partner telling him to watch out for Madeline. She was a shark with teeth. He also remembered Harvey telling him that if he gave an inch she'd taken the whole football field.

It was good advice. ...But he hadn't realized how long he'd gone without human contact, not until he experienced it again in full force. He'd never been much for talking. But a week without any conversation at all, save for orders from guards or inmates muttering ugly, violent things at him under their breath, had apparently taken its toll. Madeline no doubt knew that, too.

He could feel himself relenting. It was … depressing and humiliating. Though in all fairness, those were feelings he was becoming accustomed to having on a daily basis. He found himself answering her. "White roses."

"Have you gotten her letters?"

"First one came yesterday."

Madeline spoke gently. "When you get them, don't rush through. Read each word, one at a time."

Then the thing he feared most happened. Nearly all the way. ...And did she know how dangerous that was for him? What would happen to him out there, when he walked back out onto his block with his guard down?

She zoned in on him. "Talk to me about what's happening to you in here."

He couldn't remember the last time he hadn't felt stressed or tired or empty, and since his arrival at Blackgate it had only gotten worse. And all because he just couldn't … He looked to Madeline with staunch resolve.

His voice took on a cold, harsh tone. "Over the past year, I've rebelled against every power structure there is here in Gotham. I didn't care who got hurt, and I didn't think about how hard and fast that beast would swipe back."

Worry set into her eyes. "So we're back to this then. That everything that happens is your fault-"

"Too many people have stuck their neck out for me and paid the price," Jim spoke overtop of her. "Because I didn't stop and think about where I was leading them."

She didn't deviate from her point. "No. That's your guilt talking."

His piercing eyes bore into hers. "You're taking risks." He said, "If you don't stop doing this, you'll be the one behind prison bars."

She blinked and sat back. She began to look agitated. "I know you want me to heed these warnings you're giving me, but all I hear is you continuing to keep me at arm's length. You're afraid that I'll do or say something that will unwittingly put you in touch with what you're feeling-"

"The more reckless you are, the more you'll gain their attention. If you keep bringing scrutiny to them, they won't hesitate to shut you down." Jim felt himself losing momentum. He needed to stay angry at her, but it was a struggle. Maybe she'd say something soon to get his fury back in place. He made his voice savage, "That's why you need to get out of here, and stay the hell away from me."

All good nature fled from her face. Good. She was getting angry. She'd do something she'd regret, and she'd leave.

Then she said in a tight voice, "You're right."

The words surprised him, but he didn't let it show. "If I'm right, then you need to go."

She spoke a little more loudly. "You're right that either of us could die, doing what we feel needs to be done." She leaned in. "I hear you offering me chivalry, Jim, but it's not what I need. I'm a mature, educated woman, and no one is forcing me to be here. I'm here of my own volition."

His voice was a tense growl. "This isn't about your gender-"

"Oh, it's not? Well then in that case, this is just one more way that you're trying to stand tall on your own and dispatch of one more person trying to help you." Her voice was clipped, "You are disinclined to let people get close. Then you're alone, just like you want. But you are then without support when you need it most."

His voice held a warning. "I'm not trying to be alone. I just want to do my time."

She kept going, not even acknowledging that he'd spoken. "Now, you're in the center of Blackgate in a prison cell. You are officially cut off from all of society, from your family who needs you, and from every person out there who's ever cared about you-"

"You think I want to be cut off from them?!" The words burst out of him. He felt a something sharp and angry spike up inside him. "That is the last thing I **ever** wanted! I don't have choices, not any more. But if I do my time and do what needs to be done, away from them, it'll be worth it if it means their lives won't ever be put in danger again."

Silence followed directly after. It was so complete that for a second Jim found it physically painful.

(x)

Madeline told herself two things before she left to go to the prison that day. She told herself the same thing she did the day of her court appearance. That she would break the rules and laws in this same situation for any client, not just for Jim Gordon. She also told herself that because she was aware of and understood Jim's relationship with Harvey that it would not impact either of them in session.

...Now who was lying to themselves?

The truth was that she was here under the guise of therapy, when _really,_ she wanted to put eyes on Jim for herself. The points he made about the risks she took were accurate, and they'd gone about sixty seconds before he spoke Harvey's name into the room. The whole point of therapy was to talk to someone who was uninvolved in your life, someone objective, someone with no stake in what happens.

Also, they were in a little too deep for her to turn back now.

Madeline watched her resulting silence fall upon Jim Gordon. Prison had washed dull his once-sparkling blue eyes but not the intense quality of his gaze, not yet. As he looked down and away, she noticed that the tough guy squint left his stare. He wore that look a lot, too much. It was clear to her that Jim was a man who had seen a lot of Clint Eastwood movies.

The real eye-opener had been his hand on hers. She'd been all but shocked when he'd reached out physically, but what shocked her more was that his hand was terribly rough and callused. The hand of a blue collar worker on the clock all day every day twelve hours a day.

And he'd only been here a week. A _week._

Though it took a little effort, she brought herself back to the present. She softly repeated his own words back to him. "If I do my time, away from them, it will be worth it if it means their lives won't ever be put in danger again."

Jim looked back up at her. But he didn't say anything, couldn't, she imagined. He'd flung his anger at her, and in doing so, it snuffed out, leaving him cold.

She said, "Be honest with yourself. Do you really believe that Lee is better off with you in a prison cell?"

He was raw and ragged and absolutely exhausted. He looked older than he'd ever looked to her before. "She's better off not being a target, not having to live her life looking over her shoulder."

So this was a sacrifice. His life for theirs. "Are you trying to tell me that this is the only way she can be kept safe from you?"

He frowned at the question. Right before he went back to his original point. "This is the only way that I can keep anyone connected to me safe from harm right now."

Madeline ignored it as easily as she had every other time. "I hear you making that decision for them. But what about what Lee wants?"

"We both want the same thing. To see our child grow up healthy and safe," he said in an intense voice. "If that's going to happen, they need to be as far away from me as possible."

"So the only way they can be happy is if you're not there." Though it was clear that he didn't appreciate the interpretation, she continued, "Help me understand something. Lee wants nothing more than to spend the rest of her life with you. And you know better than anyone the impact a missing father can have. How is their happiness not directly connected to yours?"

Jim stared back at her with weary eyes. He seemed empty of a response.

She asked him, "What about you, Jim? Why don't you deserve happiness?"

He looked down and away. He didn't answer, and they stayed in silence for what felt like a long time. Madeline decided that it wasn't terribly important if he answered out loud, just as long as he was interested in finding the answers for himself.

The longer they spent in silence, the more she looked around at the walls surrounding them. She took in the peeling paint, the scratched up concrete floor where cheap carpet used to be. To her own surprise, she started talking in a much softer voice. "Back when I used to work here, I didn't believe that anyone deserved to be in a prison cell. No matter what they'd done."

Jim looked up. The frank admission seemed to regain his attention.

She said, "I learned the hard way that some men, not many, but some do belong in here." She spoke with great clarity, "But you're not one of them."

Jim seemed to be waiting for her to say something more, but she managed to stay quiet. He summoned up a little something and raised his head. "Madeline, you don't have to do this. I can handle this."

"You think I don't know that?" she said. "I know you can handle it-"

"Then let me."

She sent him a determined expression. "You're trying to do two hard things that you've never done before. You're trying to survive living in a cage locked up away from your family, and you're serving out a prison sentence for a crime you didn't commit. I know you want to do these things alone, but like I said, I'm not going to let you."

Jim looked at her and she saw him sink down, not unlike he had at his trial. Despite how badly she wanted to see him back down, to let her help him, she felt something deep inside her twist. His time spent in Blackgate had already taken its toll. The prison had already begun chipping away at his strength, his power, his determination. She didn't want to think about what might happen next if he wasn't exonerated and freed from his sentence … and soon.

It was then that she heard Wilson Bishop's footsteps echoing through the empty halls. They both looked to the door at the sound.

It prompted Madeline to say, "I think that means it's time for me to go." She sat back in her chair. She tilted her head a little, causing a few red strands of her hair to fall into her face. "Is there anything you'd like for me to pass onto Lee?"

He sat up straight, and after a moment's consideration, he said, "Do you have paper and a pen?"

Madeline lifted up her purse, and she only had to root around for a second before she handed both to him.

He thought for a moment about what to write, and when he did scribble something down, he kept it short. It kept with his pattern in most things. He folded the note neatly in half and handed it back to her, and she stuffed it down into one of the pockets of her purse.

She decided against telling him that she wouldn't read the note. She trusted at this point that it could go without saying.

Jim looked at her. She watched him struggle with what to do or say next. Finally, when he did speak, his voice sounded quieter and gentler than it had the entire time they'd spent together. "Have you … seen Lee? Is…" He swallowed. "Is she…"

"She's back at work," she said. "Came back Monday."

He nodded at the answer, which was good. It felt like the only safe one to give him at the moment.

They both shifted a little, as their session came to a close. Madeline scooped up her purse, and then she cast Jim a careful look. "Do you… have a cold?"

He cleared his scratchy throat. "Yeah. It set in last night."

She made a face. "They call it 'Blackgate Lung'. Probably because the cough makes it sound like you're trying to dislodge one." Then she rummaged around in her purse, until she found it. She held it out to him. "Cough drop?"

To her surprise, he accepted it.


	6. Oh Pretty Woman

**Hi, guys! Here's the next chapter. I can't thank you readers enough for all the love! Seeing these stories getting read always makes my day. Shoutout to ladylace616! Thanks for the reviews.**

(x)

Detective Harvey Bullock walked into the precinct to see Captain Barnes waiting by his desk. He kept his head down as he bulled forward. He'd gotten off work at 4 a.m. that morning and was back on schedule at seven at night.

On paper anyway. His watch told him that it was ten minutes to eight.

He drank scotch for breakfast that morning and had forgotten to set his alarm. Or slept through it. He couldn't say for sure. His head felt like someone was playing bongos inside his skull and the Rolaids he choked down had yet to put out the brushfire in his ribcage.

Barnes sent him a familiar look of raw irritation from where he stood. Harvey's stomach sank. Further evidence that their dicey professional relationship was far from improving.

Barnes sang in the key of sarcasm. "Detective Bullock, so nice of you to join us."

He decided not to share with the Captain that the damn rooster didn't crow or that the lights they had on in the precinct were way too bright again. He also didn't deadpan, _So am I fired yet?_

Barnes tossed down a folder that slapped onto his desk. "Another murder. Same weapon. Same victim. Same 'unsolved' status."

They hadn't had an unsolved homicide case since Barnes had become Captain, which was something he liked to point out loudly and often. Which also gave him one more reason to bust Harvey's chops.

Harvey growled to himself as he broke open the folder and lifted it to his eyes. He stared down upon glossy graphic photographs that looked like stills from an R rated slasher flick. If Madeline was right, their deeply closeted serial killer just kicked off his training wheels. With a fresh new butcher's knife and a bad case of bloodlust, he was coming into his own. He said what he always said to get Barnes off his back. "I'm on it, Cap."

"You're on it?" he echoed. "Every time I look over here, you're _on_ your ass _on_ the phone. I had no idea serial killers could be arrested by calling collect."

"It's legwork. I don't like it either but it's gotta get done." He decided it wasn't exactly a full-fledged lie, just one of those omission-types. "The minute you find one lead it goes to another. It sneaks up on you." He said before he could think to stop himself, "They're like pringles."

Barnes narrowed his eyes at him intensely. "Yeah, well, while you're over here taking a snack break, I've got a panicked mayor and reporters beating down my door."

Across the way, Harvey saw Madeline glance at them over her shoulder. She caught the look on his face. Then she blinked those big brown eyes of hers and headed toward him.

Great. Mother Hen activated.

Barnes continued in his tirade, "Catch this clown. Not tomorrow. Not next week. **Today.** "

Right. He glanced quickly down at his Timex. Four hours to catch a serial killer. Because that was grounded in reality. No pressure.

Madeline powered up to them and said loudly, "Captain Barnes." He turned to her, and she offered him a manilla folder. "You'll want to keep this close by when I.A. rolls through."

Barnes slipped on his half-moon reading glasses and accepted the folder. He said distractedly, "How many times I gotta tell you to call me Nathaniel?" He flipped through the pages. "Hot off the press?"

She said, "I took it out of the oven as soon as the timer went off."

It earned her a rare smile. He tapped her shoulder lightly with the file. "Thanks for this." His grimace returned as he looked back at Harvey. "Get back out in the streets. An expert tip: Suspects are most often found -outside- the precinct."

Barnes left his desk area, causing Harvey to harrumph to himself as he slumped down in his chair.

Madeline stood by his desk. The air between them grew electric, just waiting to be neutralized with swift sarcasm.

She sang at him in a low voice, "You're gonna get caught…"

There it was. Harvey already knew using his official position on a personal investigation was grounds for reprimand or removal. It didn't get any more personal than Jim going from being his partner to fresh meat in the slammer. But just because Madeline happened to be right about that didn't mean he had to encourage further rubbernecking.

He snapped back at her. "Don't be a pest. Open your eyes, sweetheart. I'm in work mode."

"Too bad Barnes can't tell."

"You mean 'Nathaniel?'"

She ignored the comment and breathed out a lilting sigh. "If you're overwhelmed by your demanding job responsibilities, you could, you know, delegate all this to someone who has her own office. Someone who could make a couple calls behind closed doors."

"We're not doin' this dance. I already told you. This ain't on your to-do list."

Madeline let it drift and didn't press him, which made him wonder how much she knew or guessed about all the bureaucratic red tape blocking his every move.

She changed the subject by nodding over to Barnes' office. "He's got a bug up his ass about you."

"He's got a whole damn ant farm up there."

She snorted at the image. "That's a lotta Haterade he's sending your way."

She didn't even know the half of it. It was like new stepdad levels of hate up in his precinct.

She postulated, "You piss him off?"

 _What's that, Cap? I can't hear you. You're breaking up._ Right before he shut down the radio and took a joyride with Gordon and Barbara Kean. He sent her a, "Maybe."

"You need to do some damage control. It's time to make with that famous Harvey Bullock sweet talk."

"On full blast?"

"Well… we don't want him disrobing."

Harvey smirked up at her. "Looks to me like you're already on top of that whole situation."

Her left eyebrow arched. "I am?"

"You am."

She sent a stare of consideration over to the Captain's office. "Meh. I wouldn't jump through any hoops." She suddenly squinted. "Though he does have that mean dad thing goin' for him."

Harvey's face fell and his eyes widened.

At his sudden silence, Madeline looked over. "I'm kidding," she all but shouted. "I'm _kidding._ Jesus…"

He cut back. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"

Some fresh realization pushed up her eyebrows. "Nevermind," she said with a sigh. "I just figured out that this has nothing to do with me. Let me know when the two of you decide to put the ruler and your knobs away, okay?"

Harvey went to say something lurid about he'd need something a little longer than a ruler to do the measuring. If she remembered, and he knew she did. … When howling, whistling, and light applause kicked up and echoed throughout the floor of the GCPD.

Detective Alvarez clumped loudly on a pair of industrial strength high heels, dressed in a strapless pink taffeta dress with a high slit up the side. He had a full dark wig of hair, big hoop earrings, and a look of absolute disgust in place. Che Guevara lives, shaves off the mustache, and gets a bad perm. Slap a bow on him and put on a price tag.

And the crowd went wild.

"Oooo, foxy lady!"

"Work it, cupcake!"

"Have mercy!"

"Screw the gym, sweetheart! I'll give you a workout!"

One of the female officers slipped a fiver down his low neckline, and Alvarez flinched and cursed as he passed by Harvey's desk.

Harvey joined in and raised his voice to catcall level. "Let me be your fantasy, baby!"

Alvarez swerved around and almost lost his balance on his stilts. "Don't talk to me, douchebag! You're dead to me!"

Madeline wore a full grin as she called after him. "I have that same dress, but you wear it better!"

He sent her a furious glare and pointed at her. "And you don't get to talk! This is all your fault." He threw up his hand. "You put ideas in the words and all get people thinking."

"Blame society," she shot back. "It has us conditioned to see feminine sexuality as currency."

Alvarez rolled his eyes and stomped his heels away, looking less like a dainty tender flower and much more like Godzilla on a rampage through Japan.

Harvey shook his head. "It's like they say. Life's rough in the streets." He nodded to her. "He's right though. This is all your fault."

Madeline shrugged. "Sorry for disrupting an entire police culture built around your dicks."

"No, you're not," Harvey sent back.

At that moment, a familiar face popped into his line of vision. Jeannie from I.A. stepped up to his desk, dressed in a lovely short skirt that showed off her gams, big, gorgeous things if he did say so himself. Harvey raised his eyebrows in greeting. "Hey there, hot stuff." He sent her a sly grin. "I didn't know Scarlett Johansson lived in Gotham."

It got a loud, resounding laugh. She neared him. "When I'm done filming, I'll give you a call."

"Why wait 'til then?"

Jeannie traced her finger down his shoulder. "I'm goin' out with the girls tonight. Read: No boys allowed."

"Aw, c'mon, let me tag along. I'll just watch. I promise I'll be real quiet."

That got him another loud, tittering laugh.

He heard the familiar sound of Madeline's heels clip-clopping away from him. He glanced over to see her already halfway back to her office.

Harvey turned his full attention back to Jeannie. "Mmm, I like that skirt you're rockin'."

"It's not a skirt. It's a sarong."

"It's s'wrong it's right."

Jeannie sent him a wicked glance. before saying, "Call me when you get lonely." She traipsed away and left to go enjoy her girls' night on the town.

Harvey happily watched her ass swing back and forth underneath her thin s'wrong until she left the building. Then he snuck a glance up to Madeline's office. He cackled to himself.

Look at Little Miss Thing, walking away all salty potatoes. Looks like she missed her chance to jump on the Harvey Bullock train when it docked in her station. Sad story. Choo choo.

He stood up, grabbing up his leather jacket and hat. All right, he'd better run after Mistress Alvarez, make sure she didn't blow cover while working her corner. Maybe that'd make it look like he was actually doing some work around here.

(x)

Every now and then Lee was overwhelmed by the desire to step into the center of the GCPD, stand on top of a desk, and shout at the top of her lungs that she was not a widow. Pity and awkward silence flooded her every interaction. She'd gotten one sympathy card from a well-meaning officer, and one of the stenographers had baked her a casserole. While their intentions were in the right place, when she saw the gifts sitting there in her office, her heart sank.

The last time she checked, Jim hadn't died. He was just in prison.

So when Lee walked into the lab and saw the fresh bouquet of white roses, her first instinct was to chuck them right out the window.

Muttering to herself about if there'd been a funeral she hadn't been invited, Lee snatched the small white envelope from off the vase and took out the letter inside.

Her breath caught in her throat as she stared down upon handwriting she knew all too well.

Jim's handwriting.

 _I love you._

 _Don't give up._

Her hand flew to cover her lips. Sudden tears welled up, blurring her vision. She barely pulled it together to close and lock the door, before a sob broke out of her.

She brushed away her tears and held the note up to her eyeline. She read the words again and again.

Then, standing alone in the M.E. lab, she rested her hand against the swell of her stomach. For the first time in days, she smiled.


	7. Cough It Out

**Thanks for all the love! All you readers rock. Over here on my end, I'm crossing my fingers that I can keep up this every 3-5 days posting pace. I'm hoping everybody's Thursday is going excellently.**

 **Rated M: for one F-bomb. For shame, Maddie.**

(x)

It had been two weeks and one day since his partner got locked up, and Harvey Bullock wasn't any closer to springing him than he had been the night Gordon walked off the van and into the bowels of Blackgate.

Of course, lately he'd been spending most of his waking hours attending to his open case that would not die. He and Alvarez slapped cuffs on a slew of colorful Johns who all had two things things in common. 1.) They weren't repressed, stab-happy serial killers. 2.) Alvarez in a vision of pink taffeta stood their little soldiers at attention.

At least their long list of arrests proved to Barnes that they were doing more than just killing time in the best little whorehouses in Gotham. Harvey had a dark thought. … Just like their murderer at large.

Harvey leaned back his head and generously tipped back his flask. When he sat back upright, he found himself staring right into the fresh, beautiful face of Doc Caliente. He blinked and gave her a quick once-over. She looked tired, very preggo, and …

...Happy.

Lee graced him with a shining smile. A glowing one, you might say. Pregnancy looked good on her. Just like everything else she wore. He tried not to frown and arch an eyebrow, and he attempted to smile instead. He was sure it made his face look caught somewhere between a psychopath's and a chimpanzee's. "Hey, doc. What can I do ya for?"

She placed a hand lightly on her baby bump. "I just wanted to thank you." She leaned in and lowered her voice, as if sharing a secret. "For bringing back the note." She pursed her lips in an adorable way. "I really needed it. It couldn't have come at a better time."

He surrendered immediately to frowning and raising an eyebrow. "What note?"

Lee grinned, megawatt this time. Right before she winked. "-Exactly.- What note?"

Okay. Subtle.

She placed a warm hand on his shoulder, before she passed by his desk.

His mouth opened, empty of a response, and his eyes followed after her, as she left out the door.

Actually it was subtle. A little too subtle. What the hell was she talking about?

Harvey scratched his neck and ran his hand through his longish hair that fell down to the collar of his shirt. His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a long string of dry, whooping coughs that sounded like a bout of emphysema trying to happen.

He looked toward her office. Madeline went and caught the plague. Of course, she still came to work so she could infect the entire police department right along with her. She had the decency to quarantine herself in her office, but it wasn't like that'd magically stop her virus from going airborne.

Harvey frowned again. But that wasn't the only thing keeping her away. Even before she starting hacking up a lung, she'd been avoiding him. If he could have bottled up the nervous energy radiating off of her, they'd be able to run the lights in this place for a week. He figured it probably meant she was getting some strange on the side that she didn't want him to know about. The idea didn't exactly thrill him, but he understood it. She kept her shit tight. Menfolk were bound to notice. Props to her for not rubbing his face in it, really.

...But even that didn't quite solve the mental jigsaw puzzle to his satisfaction. He swigged back his flask one more time. So all right. Something was up with Doc Caliente, and something was up with Madeline, too. Lee gets a note, mostly definitely from Gordon and most definitely from the prison, and she thinks Harvey's the postman. Except it didn't get there by him, by the Pony Express, or by carrier pigeon.

Harvey thought about poking around through the M.E. lab. He thought about maybe waiting until Madeline took her germs on home to run a little light surveillance in her office.

Then he discarded both impulses as he remembered who he was dealing with here.

With a steaming hot styrofoam cup of Lipton in hand, he thumped his shoes loudly as he stepped up to her office. Old habit. So she wouldn't spook.

He walked up to her doorway to find her slumped over her desk, red-nosed and sniffling. Reams of paper, yellow legal pads, and file folders lay strewn across her desktop.

He rapped his knuckles lightly on her open door. "I didn't know candidates for pneumonia were allowed to come to work."

She blew her nose loudly into a kleenex. "It's all fun and games until you catch Gotham's version of Avian flu."

He held out the cup to her. "Figured you could use some room service."

Madeline coughed in a honking, chest-rattling fashion. She pushed herself into a sitting position and gratefully accepted the cup. "I was just thinking that I wanted some tea, except I didn't want to have to get up and make it myself."

"Guess that's why people have butlers." He pointed to the chair by her desk. "Cool if I sit?"

She swiped strands of hair out of her face before she raised the cup to her lips. She said in a scratchy voice, "Not sure you want to be doing that. You better keep your distance or you're gonna be next."

"Uh-huh." He took a seat anyway.

Madeline blinked her gaze away from his and stared down at the slew of papers in front of her. After taking a sip of tea, she idly organized her desk while he sat there.

Eventually, she glanced up at him with an earnest expression.

Harvey asked, "So how'd Gordon look when you saw him?"

She looked at him and blinked.

He shrugged. "You gonna tell me about it now? Or do I gotta wait another couple days for you to crack?"

She muttered that he was un-fucking-believable. "So what? Now you're following me?"

"How 'bout I didn't even have to get up from my desk to piece this one together." He added flatly, "Also, I didn't know for sure. Nice admission of guilt though."

Madeline made a weak noise of frustration and averted her gaze. They sat in heavy silence for a few moments. If Harvey read her right, she was deciding which way she was going to play it.

Finally, she openly rolled her eyes. Then she caved, just like he knew she would. She motioned, saying, "Shut the door."

Some things about Madeline had changed over the years. He found himself glad to see that part of her hadn't. Harvey got the door and once again took a seat.

She ran her hand through her red head of hair, which was flat and a little damp, no doubt due to her running a low grade fever. She stared off for a long moment, before she said, "I saw Gordon two days ago."

He suddenly got a image of her walking through the front doors of Blackgate wearing a pair of those plastic, black Groucho Marx glasses with the mustache that only ever seemed to show up in Muppet movies. Then he consulted his mental calendar, and he frowned. "Thought they didn't have visiting hours on Wednesdays."

"They don't. I used my backstage pass."

He squinted at her. "... What's that supposed to mean?"

She sent him a look. Harvey knew the expression.

He let off a heavy sigh and ran his hands over his face. "Christ Almighty…" When his hands fell down, he opened his mouth, closed it, and then said, "How?"

"You know, I was initially worried about the logistics of it, but it was alarmingly simple. I might make an anonymous call just to let them know how easy it is to bypass security when this is all over."

"So you busted into Blackgate. You're serious right now?"

"This is my serious face."

He muttered his disapproval. "No. Hell no. This ain't the way."

Her voice held a warning. "Harvey-"

"I thought I told you to stay out of the way. I told you to back off of this."

She didn't mince words. "He's in deep shit, okay? He needs help." Then she added, "Not to mention that him being locked up inside Blackgate makes exactly no sense anyway. It's like backwards day. The whole situation is like two plus two equals string beans."

Once again, she'd rather play junior detective. Getting herself in shady situations and giving him a heart attack. Harvey raised his voice. "I don't want you takin' this on-"

"Don't tell me not to take it on." She said simply, "This is who we are, okay? This is what we do."

He hated it when she made choices like this. She may as well stand up and say, you know what my life needs. More stress and danger. Because that won't make everything worse.

Madeline saw him growing quiet and immediately assumed that was a positive. She sat up and said, "So. Are we good here?"

"No, we are not good here," he mouthed back angrily. "I was sitting here about to say that I can't believe you just did this shit. But then, you know, the more I thought about it, the more it sounds exactly like something you'd go and do."

There was a bitter twist to her mouth. "If things made sense, your partner wouldn't be in a prison cell right now, and I wouldn't have to break in to schedule a session with him. But the fact of the matter is that this is not a city that respects things like reason and order. So sometimes…" She ignored his groan and said, "Sometimes we need to improvise."

Improvise. Like she was testing out talking points from a corporate training and development seminar. He said with authority, "Yeah, well, that little field trip's the last one you're gonna take. It's over. Done. You're gonna stop with this foolishness."

"The hell I am."

"The hell you're not."

Madeline looked unimpressed with his assertions. Intimidation had always been his staple, but it never worked like it was supposed to with her. Though her voice was hoarse from her cold, it took on a slightly more diplomatic tone. "Look, I'm not… I'm not saying you're wrong. And I'm not trying to disrespect your position. I'm just asking you to consider things from my perspective for a minute or two."

He tried to get himself under control and shook his head. She slumped back in her chair, arms crossed, and appeared to be working up to her next sidetrack, when another likely thought hit him. "You rope Wilson Bishop into this little high jinks?"

Madeline opened up her hands. "It's like one of those Han Solo, Chewbacca life debt things. It's not like I've got one with anybody else."

He rubbed his brow. "You stop to think about what Wilson's gonna do for work after you get caught?"

She looked at him with open indignation. "You think I didn't already consider that? Even if I'm caught, he won't be. We've got a system." Harvey muttered something under his breath after that, but Madeline did a good job pretending that she didn't hear it. "Even if it all goes to hell, I'll find him another job. He knows that."

He got back on point. "You stop and think about what's gonna happen to Gordon after you get caught?"

She turned her grave face away. Then she took a deep breath and said, "I spent two years working with men who found their way into that prison. When it comes down to it, there are the guys who can do hard time and guys who can't. The ones that make it through have constant, regular reminders that there is a life waiting for them on the outside."

Harvey hunched over in his chair. "You think I'm not doing that?"

She shook her head. "Don't-"

"How many times we gotta go through this?" His voice hardened, "I cannot have you doubtin' me-"

"Honey." The crisply spoken word caught him up short, which was probably why she said it. "We both know all about where that one leads. And I really don't think we need another shouting match on the books. Do you?"

Weird, full pressure pounded in his ear drums. He ran his hands over his face as his head swam with too much everything.

Madeline gave him a moment to absorb and to process the current situation. When he looked back up at her, she said, "Harvey, this whole town is against him. That whole prison is against him. Right now, he needs whatever he can get. If I can help, I'm going to."

They both sat, looking at each other. He regarded her for a second. "... You ever stop and think about what's gonna happen to you when you get caught?"

It seemed as though she'd been patiently waiting for him to voice the question. "I know this detective down at the GCPD. He can be sort of an ass when he wants to be. But he's got some morals and he cares about people, even though he hates when people notice. I figure maybe he can pull some strings and bust me out."

Watching her, Harvey pressed out a long-suffering sigh. "Anybody else know about this besides Wilson and Gordon?"

"Just you, me, and the crickets."

Finally, he said, "Tell me what I gotta say to talk you out of this."

She watched him, but said nothing.

He stared away. "You're gonna get made."

She said, "I'll call you when I need you."

Something told him that he'd have to take that, because at the moment it was the best he was going to get. He could only shake his head.

Madeline knocked back a swig of tea. "How's your Jack the Ripper case going?"

"We got a drunk tank full of perverts who wanna take Alvarez out on a hot date."

"Sounds like you got dinner -and- a show."

He scratched his beard. "Also, I think I might be a pimp."

She lightly tapped his fedora. "We're gonna need to get you a fancier hat."


	8. Hard Out Here

**Hey, readers! Thanks for keeping up with this story. I've been loving the new Gotham season so far, and I hope you guys are too. Here's the next! Big thank you to everyone who favorited/followed this time around! Hope everybody's work/school week got off to a good start. :)**

(x)

Jim Gordon sat alone at an ancient, graying picnic table in "the yard", which was a poor designation in his opinion. Really, it was just a huge, fenced-off asphalt area where the prison gangs could fight over turf and time on the basketball court. He hunched over and stuffed his hands down inside his pockets, as he watched his breath crystalize in the frigid air. The threadbare prison-issued coat did little to shield him from the bone-cold temperature outside.

The metal door to the yard loudly swung open, and he turned to look over his shoulder. Harvey Bullock entered into the area, walking in as though he owned the place, trademark sideways smile in place.

Harvey slid down across from him at the picnic table. "He-eeey. There he is." He gave him a long once-over. "You're lookin' good." He pointed to his own face. "Sight for these sore eyes, I'll tell ya that much."

Jim only nodded to him. Harvey was being kind. They didn't have much in the way of creature comforts in Blackgate, but they did have mirrors. He knew he looked like hell.

His partner dug into the side pocket of his leather jacket and took out a couple horse pills. Right before he drank them down with whiskey from his flask.

Jim took an educated guess. "Blood pressure?"

"I'm gettin' old," he said. "I gotta take vitamins and shit." He offered his flask to Jim. He accepted it and took a long swig himself.

When Harvey took back the flask, an uncomfortable silence began to settle between them. Then his partner suddenly pointed to him. "I know what you're thinkin'..." He smirked and tugged at the collar of his leather coat, as if showing it off. "But this jacket is vintage. You can look but you won't be able to find it anywhere."

Jim dug up a ghost of a smile. "You on your way into the salt mines?"

"Yeah," he said, long and drawn out. "I gotta drive the squad car up here just to be able to park less than three miles away. Finding a legal parking spot around here is like the stuff dreams are made of." Harvey gave a quick raise of his eyebrows and he suddenly presented a carton of cigarettes, magician-style. "Speaking of which. Thought you might be able to use some walking around money."

He took it from him. "Thanks, Harv. I appreciate it."

"Hey, I told you. I got your back. This is the brotherhood. This is how it works."

It took Jim a minute before he asked, "How're things at the precinct?"

Harvey breathed out an exasperated sigh. "Got this bullshit case I'm dealing with right now. Whackass serial killer who's got a serious appetite for bloodshed. Three murders in two weeks."

"Sounds like a busy two weeks."

"You don't know the half of it. Barnes' got his nose right up my ass about this one. You'd think he'd have less toxic, more scenic places to be."

That was his specialty when it came to Harvey. "Got any suspects?"

"I'm pulling in Johns left and right, but no dice. Usually, there's beaucoup suspects to choose from. It's a goddamn desert out there."

Jim's brow furrowed as he considered the case. "You run by the stash houses on the East End?"

Harvey made a face. "Those posers used to have halfway decent intel, but lately they're a bunch of useless fucks. They're all front. All they do anymore is sell shit weed and drink Colt 45."

Jim felt a small hint of a familiar sensation. He recognized it as … belonging. For a short moment, he didn't feel like a prisoner. This was a conversation they could just as easily have had at their desks, or in the squad car, or getting greasy burgers outside a food truck. Of course, the fact that he acknowledged it only reminded him that these were the temporary blips of human connection he'd have to look forward to over his sentence.

Harvey kept right on going as usual. "Whoever's stabbing the whole set of kitchen knives through these broads, they're one cold son of a bitch. He's got more issues than Sports Illustrated."

He eased back into the conversation. "You run any ballistics? Find any DNA?"

"Ed looked into this massage oil the psycho rubs all over before he slices into 'em. It's Balsam oil. Apparently it's tough to find. But so far, no hits on anyone's account."

Jim frowned in thought. "...Balsam oil?"

"Yeah." Then. "I think. I dunno as soon as Nygma starts yammering it's like my brain shuts down purely on principle."

"Don't they use that oil in churches? For ceremonies, baptisms, that kinda thing?"

Harvey grinned suddenly. "You goin' all religious on me in here? That fast? It usually takes a good month or two before jailbirds go looking for Jesus."

Jim deadpanned, "From what I hear before you find God you've got to hit rock bottom."

"Either that or become a hopeless alcoholic." Harvey held up his flask. "Don't knock it. Some of us got goals we're workin' on here." Then he let out a sigh of relaxation. "So, you think I should scare up some salvation and barge in on Sunday morning worship, huh?"

"That's where I'd start."

"Hopefully when I walk in there I won't burst into flames." But he did add, "Thanks for the tip."

Another silence seeped in before Jim asked in a softer, more serious tone, "How's Lee doing?"

He kept it short. "She's back at work. Came back last week."

It was the same thing Madeline had said… and it said everything.

Which reminded him. Jim cleared his throat. "Look, Harvey. There's something I gotta tell you..."

"Save it. I already know."

Jim's eyes widened slightly in response.

Harvey shrugged. "I smelled that one comin' off her from a mile away. All I had to do was corner her and wait for her inevitable crisis of conscience." He said, "She buckled like a belt."

So it took Harvey less than three days to figure it out. He wondered how long it might take anyone else. But then again, maybe they wouldn't have to. Jim looked at him. "So it's done. You put a stop to it."

He sent him a stare. "How'd that go when you tried it?" As soon as he saw Jim's face drop, he nodded a solid 'that's what I thought'. "Don't worry. That ain't the last move I got. I'll end this thing." He said, "At least until then, I got eyes on it."

Jim sighed in response.

He stood up, walked over, and clapped him on the back. "But look it. Just because I got all these cute little intrigues keepin' my days full doesn't mean I've forgotten about you. I'm still narrowing down suspects in Pinkney's murder." He looked at Jim when he said, "I canvassed his neighborhood, friends, family. They're all clean as a preacher's sheets." He said, "Whoever did this covered his tracks big time. I think that means we gotta start lookin' in house at this thing."

Jim gave him a nod, as that had been his opinion exactly. "I appreciate it, Harv."

"Hang in there, Jimbo. Like I said, I'm gettin' you outta here." He started to back away. "Oh, hey. Just 'cause you're in here doesn't mean you're off the hook. I haven't forgotten about your little engagement to the doc. Get ready. 'Cause once we bust you outta here, you're gonna have the Girls Gone Wildest bachelor party this thieving town's ever seen."

Jim forced a smile and answered sarcastically, "Good to know."

As he walked away, he called back, "You're gonna have glitter in places you didn't even know you had. Keep those g-strings and singles on standby!"

(x)

Madeline sat behind her desk in her rented office space, jotting down notes, keeping herself occupied until her next session made his arrival. Though technically it wasn't really a session, more of a … check-in.

Only moments later, she raised her head as she heard someone enter in through the front door of the lobby. She walked through the doorway, to find Alfred Pennyworth in the foyer, shaking out his black umbrella. It had grown bitterly cold outside, but the freezing rain had yet to turn to snow.

Alfred looked up and said in his crisp British accent, "I appreciate you allowing me to stop in on short notice." He stood at attention. "I figured, seeing as how I was in the neighborhood…"

Madeline sent him a small smile and accepted his umbrella from him. "No, I was happy you returned my call." She hung the umbrella from her coatrack and motioned for him to follow her. "Come on inside."

Alfred took a step forward and pointed. "Into your office?"

"Mmm-hmm."

She clicked the door shut behind him as they both stepped into the still, quiet room. Alfred gazed around at the space, taking it in, as she'd often seen parents or significant others do before. … He was wondering what Bruce had said or not said about him in therapy. Had he been mentioned casually, ripped apart, or revered?

He turned back around and sent her an awkward glance. Madeline tried another little smile.

Alfred motioned to the two seats in the center of the room. "So, which one do I…?"

She shrugged. "Either's fine."

It only took him another moment's assessment to figure out which seat was probably hers, and he took the seat across from it.

Madeline joined him, sitting down comfortably, crossing one leg over the other.

They sat in relative silence for a moment. Then Alfred said, "You said you wanted to speak with me. About Bruce."

"Yes. Since you're here and he's not, I take it he hasn't returned home yet."

"No." There was a layer of sadness in his voice. "No, he hasn't."

She said, "You must be terrified for him."

"I'm worried sick. There hasn't been a day in his life until now that I haven't been there for that boy."

"I had no idea you'd been with the Waynes for so long." She sat back in her chair. "They must have had an enormous amount of respect for you. They must have trusted you completely, for them to leave Bruce in your care."

"Yes, well. In many ways, the Waynes are the only family I've ever known."

In the past, Madeline spent a great deal of time thinking about how Thomas and Martha Wayne's passing affected Bruce, but she'd be the first to admit that she hadn't considered how the loss would affect Alfred, despite how obvious his grief should have been to her. She latched onto the last part of what he'd said. "The only family you've ever known?"

He hesitated before he said, "Some of us come from homes where they have the luxury of individual care and attention. But in my experience, most don't." He added, "Often, we have to make our own way."

"It's got to be difficult growing up in a home where you aren't the priority. It tells you from a young age: you're on your own."

It became clear that Alfred saw it a different way. "It gives you thick skin," he said. "You learn to fight your own battles, to take care of yourself."

Madeline said, "That teaches a person how to survive. Unfortunately, it doesn't leave much room for your own needs, your own wants."

He considered her, and then a small smirk appeared on his face. "Are you trying to psychoanalyze me, doctor?"

"Well… I have made a career of it."

"Maybe you can't help yourself."

She unsuccessfully tried to hold back a smile. "That's probably true." She moved them back onto topic. "To be honest, some nights I've had thoughts myself of going out and looking for Bruce. I haven't, of course. But … if I'm thinking about it and I'm only his therapist, I can only imagine the steps you're taking to try to find him."

Alfred nodded. "I'm out looking most nights. In hopes of bringing him back. Unfortunately, it's more than a touch of the needle in the haystack."

She heard how tired his voice became. "What about the police? Are they providing any assistance?"

"They were, when Jim Gordon was …" He chose his words carefully. "Still in the service of the police department."

Madeline frowned to herself. She looked back up at Alfred. "That's a lot of loss." She added, "For you and Bruce. Gordon's sentencing, your time spent in the hospital, the anniversary of his parents' passing." She said, "It's a lot to handle at once."

Alfred sunk down just slightly as he appraised her. Then he asked, "You believe my time in the hospital is partly what made him leave?"

That hadn't been what she'd said. She'd been trying to get Alfred in touch with his own grief. But for some reason that's what he'd heard. "Are you feeling in any way responsible?"

He frowned a little. "How can I bloody not? I'm his guardian after all. At the very least I'm supposed to make his home a place he wants to be. A place where he can feel safe."

"You haven't done that?"

His voice became slightly irritated. "Yes, I've done that so well that he's vanished, probably into the most dangerous back alleys of Gotham, where any manner of harm could come to him at any time."

Madeline noticed the shift in the air. "Just so you know, it wasn't my intention to blame you, or any of us who care for him." She said, "That's often a misunderstanding of therapy. That we're here to find a scapegoat for our problems."

He blinked a few times. "What is the point, if you don't mind my asking?" His voice wasn't accusing, merely curious. "Of attending sessions like these? I've often wondered, as to the end goal you doctors have in mind."

Her smile quirked back into place. "Well, 'us doctors' think life is better off examined. When you have grief and anger and pain, how else can it be healed except by looking at it and thinking about it in a different way?"

Alfred said, "Does it ever get to the point where that prolongs the initial problem? I'm sure you'd have to agree that there comes a time when we need to … stop looking at every ache and pain. Eventually we have to move on."

She adjusted her glasses and sat up straighter. "When someone has a childhood where they have to be an adult because no one is going to care for them, there's no choice but to move on. The focus needs to be on surviving, getting through. However, unfortunately, that only pushes the pain to one side. It doesn't teach you to deal with it."

Madeline's words didn't seem to sit right with him. He stared off to the side. "Where I come from, being soft … can get you killed. I've seen … nightmares, horrors. Especially in the service. Now despite how badly the Waynes tried to protect him, Bruce has seen the same. Those experiences. They shape your view of the world."

She tried to put it in a nutshell. "So vulnerability needs to be avoided. At all costs."

Alfred didn't argue the interpretation. "In this city, if you remain vulnerable, you might not live long enough to make it into rooms like these."

She said, "And now Bruce is running away from this room and from his home, into the streets of Gotham where survival will be his only priority. Where there won't be any time or space to feel anything at all."

Alfred's mouth closed, and the room fell silent. He cleared his throat, and he moved forward to sitting on the edge of his seat. He looked … saddened by what she'd said, but also unsettled. "Well, I suppose," he said in a clipped tone. "That's one perspective."

Madeline looked at him for a long moment. Then, she took a chance, asking him, "Who are you really angry at, Alfred?"

He looked at her, and his demeanor softened. "Myself," he answered in a huff. He tossed up his hand. "Of course."

"Bruce loves you," she said.

It earned her sudden, intense eye contact. "He said that?"

"He doesn't have to. You're everything to him. He trusts you more than anyone," Madeline spoke it as an easy, obvious truth.

His frown deepened. She had meant for the thought to bring him comfort, but … perhaps it had only further amplified Bruce's absence and his own worry and grief concerning it.

They were just about at time. She'd have to bring them to a close, so she could see her next client. But she wanted to ask him one more question. "I know you were most likely left instructions on how to raise Bruce from Martha and Thomas."

Alfred looked up at her. He did confirm or deny it, nor did his face give anything away.

Madeline said, "But they're not here any more. You're his parent now. Are there things you have to teach Bruce that aren't of his own choosing? That aren't hard lessons that make him 'thick-skinned?'"

"Yes, of course, I have." He blinked at her and seemed to want her to get to her point. "What are you trying to say here, doctor?"

She obliged him. "I'm saying that, despite the circumstances, what you say and do matters to him, and you have much more influence over his decisions than you think."

Alfred took his leave. But before he left the office, he thanked her and promised to give her a call as soon as Bruce returned home.

Madeline closed the door behind him, and a memory bubbled up, a moment from one of Martha Wayne's sessions. She'd been volunteering much of her time to Child Protective Services. Martha had just come from removing several children from a house where the mother tried to provide a safe, loving home for them, even though she couldn't. It was clear the mother loved them all desperately, but she had no money, no food, no family, no support.

It kicked up old feelings of guilt for Martha and reminded her of the injustices that plagued the city. Sitting in the chair across from Madeline, she stared away, deep in thought and said, "It's hard out here, isn't it?"

Madeline often thought that if someone who didn't know her well had overheard, they might have become indignant. How dare this wife of a billionaire suggest that life is in any way difficult for her?

But Madeline understood what she meant. When one person experiences grief and loss, its impact doesn't end there. Because we're all connected, the rest of us experience it, too. She was saying, 'Isn't it heart-breaking that it's so hard out here in this city? For all of us?'


	9. The Quiet Things That No One Ever Knows

**Thanks for reading, everyone! It means a lot to me. Seeing people checking this out makes my day and keeps me on track. :) Have I mentioned that I love writing Jim Gordon? Only a million times, right? Hope everyone's weekend is going excellently.**

(x)

Harvey tried guilt tripping her, blaming her for his ulcers and talking about how he had to up his blood pressure medication after the stunt she pulled. Then he tried braying like a Neanderthal. In his last fit, he called her "Noseypants McFelon" and told her there was enough legitimate danger in this city without her "Veronica Marsing around". (Madeline deadpanned, "It like you're this giant jackass pinata, begging for someone to beat the candy out of you." It got no reaction. He either didn't catch the reference or was too committed to staying angry with her.)

Next came the empty threats. Fuming and growling about how when she got nicked he'd leave her ass on ice in a jail cell for a day or two if that's what it took to get her to stop putting herself in dumb as rocks, risky situations like these. Which of course, they both knew he'd never actually do.

Finally, Harvey tried reasoning with her, which was really his worst move yet. That opened the floor for her to use some of his own logic against him. ("Oh, so it's perfectly fine for _you_ to break the rules, risk getting fired, and put your ass on the line. But not me. Could you remind me why that is again, please?") As of that morning, he'd gone back to guilt-tripping. It brought them full circle.

After all this time, Harvey still thought he knew her better than she knew him. It was like a puppy chewing through your favorite pair of pumps. It was infuriating and annoying… but she'd be damned if it wasn't at least a little cute.

She heard the echoing click of Wilson's boots, right before Jim Gordon walked into the dilapidated therapy room. He eyed her uncertainly.

Madeline said, "Hi."

After a long hesitation, he said, "Hi." Then he stepped forward and took a seat.

Well, there was an improvement.

This time Jim drank the coffee. It was an eventuality. Caffeine was the lifeblood of the GCPD detective, second only to doughnuts.

She sat across from him, sipping her own cup. This time she didn't start out with a question. Keeping silent at the start had become her preferred way to open most sessions. It made things a little awkward for the person sitting across from her, but it also let the client start off with whatever was foremost on their mind.

Jim seemed to be waiting for her to say something. She looked right back levelly with a diffident smile.

Finally, he cleared his throat. "I wanted to apologize." She must have looked at him oddly, because he then said, "I raised my voice at you. Last time we were…" He let it drift off.

So he didn't start off with his own thoughts, feelings, dread, or grief. All his needs took a back seat, and apologizing to her was his point of urgency. "The whole point of this thing is for you to be able to express whatever you're feeling. Even if it's anger. Even if it's anger at me."

Jim gave a short nod.

After a moment's thought, she said, "I'm sorry, too. Therapy isn't really… supposed to happen this way."

He looked like he had a thought about that, but he decided not to share it.

Madeline added, "Yes, you did hear me right. I am admitting that therapists should not typically break into prisons to see their clients."

What came across his face next might have been a smile, if it hadn't been so strained and tired.

She said, "Though I am happy to see you've come back."

Jim set down his coffee. "When you're led off by a guard, it's understood that you'll go without a fight."

"Do you feel you have to be in this room?"

"We don't get many choices in here."

"I thought about that after I left last time. I thought about how I was trapping you here. … But then I realized I wasn't."

Jim cast her a confused frown.

She gave a small shrug. "You're Jim Gordon." That regained his attention. "If you wanted to badly enough, you'd find a way out."

Jim sat up slightly and widened his eyes, as if that was the wildest thing he'd heard in awhile. He asked in his dry, gruff voice, "You really believe that?"

"Yes," she said. "In fact, I'd bet on you coming out of any situation over the alternative."

It slowly but surely brought them back to a teeming silence, which was fine. It was a dance she'd done many times before.

She took solace in the fact that for now he was choosing to stay.

(x)

When Jim stepped back inside the shambles of what used to be a therapy room, one thing became apparent. Either Harvey overestimated his grip on her reins or Madeline had new tricks up her sleeve that Harvey didn't know how to counter. Jim also knew too well how his partner could exert force. Harvey would have shut down the entire situation if he really thought it was a bad enough idea. Either way, Madeline didn't look like a woman who had expended much energy in coming back there.

In fact, she looked oddly at home in this room with its peeling walls, its armpit scent, and a torn-up, cold cement floor.

He tried to imagine her walking the halls, going toe to toe with the guards, the inmates, Warden Grey. Barely clearing 5'4" even in heels. … And he couldn't. It just didn't match with the level of brutality he'd seen.

Madeline stared back at him, politely. Waiting for...

He decided to keep conversation neutral. "You said you used to work here?"

She 'hmmed' through a sip of her coffee before setting down the cup. "For two years before they…" She raised her eyebrows. "Sent me on my way."

Jim shared a look of understanding with her. So this wasn't only about seeing him. This was also some more rebellion on her part. "Sounds like you didn't leave on the best of terms."

"That I had some animosity? A 'feeling' about it?" She nodded in agreement. "It wasn't the way I wanted to go. I was hurt and … angry." She finished with, "More than that. Furious. At times."

Jim found himself perfectly comfortable allowing the session to focus on her instead of him. "Something tells me you didn't leave without letting them hear about it."

She half-smiled. "How'd you guess?"

Just like that Jim thought of her court appearance, though he didn't want to. It stung like a barb. After a moment's consideration, he said, "You aren't exactly the type to hold back."

Madeline made a thoughtful noise. "Is that how you see me? Someone who puts it all out there, doesn't hide things?"

"Are you saying you're aren't?"

"No, it's just … interesting. The way other people see us." She paused and adjusted herself in her seat. "Do you see yourself as the opposite? Someone who holds back and keeps things … in control?"

Jim found himself unsurprised to hear the interpretation. "On the job you have to keep a poker face. If you show any hesitation, any weakness, if you crack, they'll take advantage. You might lose a confession or provoke an attack. Or worse."

"Is that the role you identify with most? That of a detective?"

Jim felt something heavy sink down inside him. He pressed his lips together before he said, "I'm not a detective any more."

She frowned. "Is that side of you gone, has it vanished, because you don't hold that title at the moment?"

In the midst of the gut feeling the topic brought up, Jim realized that she made a fair point. "I suppose some part of me will always be…" He breathed out a sigh against his closed lips. "Practical. Disciplined." Hard. ...Unrelenting.

"So some things can't be taken from you," she said. "No matter where you are."

It was a nice notion… almost sweet, really. Though Madeline was good for things like that, when she wasn't holding his feet to the fire.

But as nice a thought as it was, Jim didn't know how much of it was true in actuality. He'd seen the empty looks on some of the faces of the men around him. They'd lived their entire adult lives in a cell. They were old now. They'd be even older when they got out. So far as he could tell, there wasn't much that Blackgate hadn't taken from them.

She honed in on him. "How did you learn that being practical and disciplined was the best way to be?"

"Just life. I guess. If you can be direct, if you can be clear-headed, it benefits the people around you."

"That sounds … like the military in you talking."

Jim allowed for it with a nod.

She asked, "How did you make the decision to enter the military?"

There was an easy one. "I wanted … to be able to protect myself." He added, "And others, and I knew joining the army would teach me how to do that."

Madeline nodded, as if that explained everything. "Did being a soldier teach you anything you didn't want?"

He heard what she was fishing for. That made it easier to dodge it. "They taught me how to shovel snow."

She arched an eyebrow. Then she smiled. "I wasn't aware that was a core skill of being an army of one."

Jim gave a small smile. "When you break rules and challenge authority in the winter, you learn a lot about … shoveling snow."

Madeline hummed a short laugh. Then her smile disappeared as she had a thought. Jim felt a hint of unease sink down into his stomach. Or maybe she'd found a way to … "You were given a punishment. For …questioning those in power, I take it." She locked her eyes onto his. "It's not anything as extreme as what you're experiencing now, of course, but … How did you get through it?"

Jim had to think back. He wasn't sure… Then he came upon an answer. "I used the time."

"Used the time?"

"To think. Not about what I'd done … usually. Not like they wanted me to. If I focused on how cold it was, how I was losing feeling in my nose or fingertips…" He shrugged. "It just made it worse. So I thought about combat training. Enemy lines. How to use what I was being taught to escape, defend, attack…" Kill. In some instances.

"So they could control a lot, but they couldn't control what happened." She motioned vaguely to her temple. "Up here."

Jim shared a short look with her to show he agreed, but didn't build upon the point.

Another silence settled upon them. It wasn't dark, like ones they'd experienced before. Just … quiet. Apparently in therapy, you didn't always have to talk. He began looking off to the side. Just as he'd used the time in the military to consider his own thoughts, he found the same happening now.

She pointed at him. "You went somewhere." He didn't confirm it, but she held tight to the thread anyway. "Where'd you go just now?"

Jim scratched his head. "What we were talking about reminded me of something my father used to say. He said there's always enough time."

She asked, "What did he mean by that?"

"He meant even when we're rushed or busy, we can make time for anything if it's important enough. He always said that we have the same hours in the day as Michaelangelo, Mother Teresa, Albert Einstein…"

"That sounds like … a lot to live up to." She explained herself, "That you're wasting your time if you aren't as artistic as Michelangelo, as selfless as Mother Teresa, as brilliant as Einstein…"

He shrugged it off. "I guess I never heard it that way."

"We don't talk much about your father, but I've often wondered. How did you get through it? When he passed away?"

He hesitated, before saying, "My mother always told me we'd get through it the way anyone gets through anything. One bad day at a time."

Madeline studied him for a moment. "Did it work like she said it would?"

Jim felt himself frowning. He knew better than anyone that time could heal some wounds, but not all of them. That was the thing about therapy, or at least Madeline's brand of it. When you gave an inch, she really did take the whole field. But the worst part was that most the time she managed to do it without him even noticing. "She didn't … handle it well," he said, making his voice firm and … in control. "She worked hard, held down her job. It put food on the table. But she … got tired a lot. There was only so much she could do."

"Was she depressed?"

"I think she was grieving," he said, trying to be kind.

"For how long?"  
His voice was like stone. "I don't know."

She sounded pretty certain when she said it. "Did you take care of her?"

He said shortly, "The best I could."

Madeline noticed the shift in the room. She asked softly, "What kind of feelings is this bringing up for you?"

 _Anger, sorrow, regret._ … As if she couldn't see it.

Then again, she said, "Talk to me about what you're feeling in here."

But she wanted him to say it. … Why did he always have to say it?

Jim began to once again regard the room around him. This was supposed to be therapy, but it wasn't. She was trespassing. This was the opposite of sanity. She wasn't supposed to be here. She would be caught, and when she was, they would…

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Madeline setting her stare on him.

He glanced away from her, but something inside him did relent. He spoke just above a whisper, "It made me feel…" He swallowed before he found himself saying it. "Powerless."

The room went silent. After a long moment, she spoke in a voice that was soft but clear. "You did everything you could to take care of her, and you still got the message that it wasn't enough." She said, "And you learned that you weren't the one who needed protecting. She was."

Jim looked up to meet her eye. He didn't want those words to hurt, but they did, because they were true.

She said, "After your father died when he shouldn't have died. Living with your mother who was withdrawn and depressed. In the military, where you could be sent out in a snowstorm for hours, no matter how low the temperature dropped. … You didn't have any choice. You had to push away what you were feeling. Now, you're here in Blackgate, and you're doing the same thing. Once again, no matter how much you did, it wasn't enough. And you're not worth protecting."

Jim closed his eyes. He didn't know what to do when she did things like this, when she backed him into a corner. It made his head start to pound. It made it difficult to think, let alone to know what to say. And she would still be sitting there, expecting a response, putting together something in her head about what it meant if he _didn't_ respond.

A fresh thought struck him. The muscles in his arms and legs grew stiff and began thrumming. He could leave right now. It wouldn't take anything. He could stand up, walk down the hall, and go back on his block. If he went fast enough, she wouldn't catch up to him. She didn't understand what she was up against, the risk she was taking. It would be better, the right choice. Better for her, for all of them to be...

He knew all those things and agreed with the logic, and still for some reason, he didn't budge. His heartbeat had sped up, and his chest ached.

"Stay with it," Madeline said softly. "Try to keep talking."

His eyes squeezed shut, and when he opened his mouth, words started coming out. "Sometimes… I feel like this is where I'm supposed to be."

She waited a moment and then asked, "Is it like you said last week? That you believe you put everyone in danger. So you need to be kept away."

He met her eye. "There are parts of what I said that were true."

"Which parts aren't true?"

It felt dangerous for him to go to that place. To let himself think about the ways he kept others safe. The ways he _tried_ to keep others safe. And even knowing that, his mind went there anyway. "It's not that I want to be away from them. I'd do … anything," he breathed out, as if releasing the words. "If it meant, I could..."

Madeline seemed to grasp what he meant. "You'd do anything if it meant you could be with them. You're talking about what you need." He looked at her, though he didn't want to. "Your need to be a present husband and father. Your need to be a free man. Your need to be safe." She said, "Your needs weren't important when you were growing up. But right now you have people in your life who want your needs to matter."

Jim thought through what she said. "I know I have people in my life who … want to help me." He said in a stern but tired voice, "But it can't happen, not the way that they want. When they're out there, and I'm in here."

Her eyes shone. She looked away and took a moment to breathe deeply, before she looked back. "When I heard you were being sent here, I had that exact same thought."

He considered her for a long moment, before he nodded. He knew what it was to break rules for the safety of others … and he also knew where judgment calls like that had ultimately landed him. "Madeline, I know you're making a choice-"

"Maybe I think it's worth it."

The way she said it made him stop. After a long pause, he asked her quietly but openly, "Do you really think coming in here is the best way to protect yourself?"

She took some time before she said, "I think the fact that no one's coming in here and escorting me out means I'm not entirely unprotected."

He replied, "People in my life have warned me that sometimes being bold and breaking rules is really just ego."

He could tell that she was contemplating what he said. Then she countered, "Sometimes a little bit of ego is just good protection."

Jim listened to the sound of Wilson's footsteps echoing out in the hall and thought, _Yeah, but a lot can get you killed._

As Wilson led him back into the general population, Jim had thought he'd worked his way through the pain that the session opened up, but he was wrong. Dread and grief gripped him in his chest and in his stomach. It had probably been there all along, but he'd never felt the entirety of it more than he did at that moment.

It shouldn't have hurt seeing Madeline, but it did. He returned back to his cell block, feeling everything he'd held back all at once.

(x)

Wilson Bishop led Jim Gordon back to his block, and Madeline waited outside the remnants of what used to be the therapy wing of Blackgate Penitentiary. She leaned her back against the wall and crossed her arms.

Her ethics told her to respect state laws, not to engage in therapy with people connected to those in your personal life, and to end therapy once it became personal to the therapist.

But her ethics also told her not to leave people behind when they were at their most vulnerable, and she didn't think anything could happen to make Jim Gordon more cut off and vulnerable than he already was.

Jim Gordon said he felt powerless. _Powerless._ He said it _out loud_.

On one hand, it was clear proof of progress. After being given the experience of acceptance after deep disclosure, it was possible for him to open up and speak his mind. And on the other hand, it meant things were even worse than she'd thought.

Madeline raised her head as she saw Wilson heading back toward her. He said, "I got him back to his cell." He glanced once over his shoulder. "So far, I think we're in the clear. I don't think anyone suspects anything."

She rolled her eyes a little to herself. With all the corruption inside Blackgate, Wilson would probably garner more attention if he _wasn't_ involved in regular infractions. She sent him a muted smile. "Thank you for doing this."

"Well… he needs it. That's for sure."

"I'll see you next week?"

He frowned and shook his head. "I don't know, doc. We're pushing it as it is," he said, resting his hands on his hips. "They turn a blind eye around here to most things, but you keep goin' like this … They're gonna figure it out one way or the other."

She chewed on her lower lip. "What are you trying to say here, Wilson?"

"I say we push it back. Two or three weeks," Wilson said. "So far Gordon's stayed off Grey's radar. Between you and me, we need to keep it that way."

She sighed a little, but then she nodded. "Okay. Two weeks."

She turned to leave, and Wilson said, "You got your card?"

As she clip-clopped away, she held up her small, white key card in the air between her fingers.

He said after her, "Remember. Go out the back and to the right. There's a camera-"

"Ten feet down," she called back. "Got it."


	10. Miss Independent

**Hello and thank you, readers! Hope your week is off to a good start. Over here, my 2 year old has been sleeping well and mostly behaving. (A clear sign that it's due to end soon at any moment…) So big thanks to my son for letting me write and post at this pace. I had fun with this chapter. I hope you'll have some fun with it, too. :)**

 **Rated M: for Im(Mature), as just about every scene that takes place on the floor of the GCPD is...**

(x)

A few days after her last visit to Blackgate, Madeline walked the floors of the GCPD and realized with mild interest that she was being ostracized by most of the precinct. The officers didn't slap 'kick me' signs to her back or spit at her as she passed them in the hallway. It was nothing that overt or blatant. But she caught the stares of ill will and the grimaces that came across the faces of most the detectives as she glided through her workday. Apparently, one of the prerequisites for becoming a GCPD detective was being able to throw serious side-eye.

That didn't stop Madeline from walking the floor like she bought and owned the place. She did it with her head held high and her face serene.

Haters gonna hate. It wasn't like she came there to meet nice people anyway.

She walked up into Harvey's world just outside the Captain's office. He was hunched over his desk, working hard on his dinner. His jacket hung lopsided on the back of his chair, and without it, he showed off his shoulder holster and badge. In between bites of food, he read over some sort of paperwork to his left and muttered something about assholes.

Here we see the Harvey Bullock in his natural habitat.

He was too focused on scarfing down the food inside a family-sized tupperware container to notice her quietly observing.

Without looking up, he said, "If it isn't the GCPD hall monitor."

Or maybe not.

Madeline replied, "So I'm getting the feeling you don't really care about the officers in this place who go from one abuse of power to another."

"See, that's what you got it all wrong." He pressed out, "I _absolutely_ don't care. I got enough problems without worrying about somebody else's shitpile. It's pretty freeing. You might want to give it a try sometime, doc."

She let off a disgusted sigh. "Okay, if you're going to just sit here and mock me, the least you could do is-" She stopped suddenly and her eyes went wide as she stared down at the contents of the tupperware container. Her voice lowered to a respectful hush. "... Oh my God, is that Regina Bullock's Chicken Pot Pie?"

A sly smile eased across his face. "Well, well, well. Look who can suddenly be taken off task by a few good leftovers." He kicked back for a second. "But here's the rub. If y'want any you're gonna have to ask pretty please with a cherry on t-"

She was deathly serious. "Pretty please with a cherry on top."

He lazily reached down into the bottom drawer and pulled out a plastic spoon for her, the type Chinese food restaurants give out, wrapped in plastic with a paper-thin napkin. "C'mon, girl. Get in on this."

Madeline freed up the spoon and dug in with abandon. She closed her eyes as she took that first bite. It melted in her mouth. It was flaky and crisp and rich and sunk down like warm molasses into her stomach. She stood completely still so she wouldn't actually swoon.

With her eyes still closed, she heard Alvarez approach and slam down hard into Jim Gordon's desk chair. Or what she still considered to be Jim Gordon's desk chair anyway. He started in immediately. "I'm officially over this whole streetwalking, ass-grabbing primadonna scene. You can find yourself a new shemale. I'm done."

Madeline still savored the first bite. "I cannot impress enough how important it is for you to be quiet in this moment."

He asked derisively. "Are you really gonna eat that whole thing?"

She answered on a dime, "I am really gonna eat this whole thing. Then I'm gonna let off a monster burp and it's gonna smell like a zoo in here."

Harvey said, "She's got her game face on. We're gonna need to febreeze the shit out of this place."

She said, "Glass houses, Harvey."

Alvarez shot her a look. "For the record, I was talking to the Wildebeest over here. Not you."

It took Harvey a second, but then he retorted lazily, "Hashtag wildebeest for life. Hashtag how many more wildebeests."

Madeline cast him a stare in between bites. "You're on twitter now?"

"I'm not on anything. The only thing I hate more than the generation under me is social media." Then he added, "And every computer ever."

She nodded as this fit with her understanding of his personality, low patience threshold, and worldview.

Alvarez got up in an irritated huff and stalked away from their desks.

Madeline asked, "What's up with Priscilla Queen of the Desert?"

"I think it's her time of the month."

"Well, you know. It's hard. To be a girl." She scooped up another heaping spoonful and when she was done chewing, she asked, "So … does the fam know I'm back in town?"

Harvey shrugged. "Last I checked they've got cable."

Madeline leaned back against the railing by his desk and lightly crossed her arms. "Something's telling me that I should 'be gone' before someone drops a house on me."

He screwed up his face in sudden disagreement. "Nah," he drew out. "It ain't like that. They're doin' Thanksgiving at Jackie's this time around." He spoke through his next bite. "She'll probably invite you over. Probably tell ya to bring a date."

Her eyebrows went up and her mouth dipped down in moderate surprise. "How's the personal investigation you're not doing?"

Harvey sat back and thumbed at the scuff on his neck. "I'm makin' some headway, but I'm still not connecting the dots." He said, "Lucky for me I got more than enough reasons to be outside this place. I get in half my little chats with locals while Alvarez is shaking his little tush on the catwalk."

"Look at you. You're a regular Phillip Marlowe."

"This is what I do. I put on my hat, and I go pokin' around and hope somethin' stirs."

"Whenever you hunt down, you know, the actual murderer you're supposed to be bringing to justice, you're gonna have to find another front."

"There's one thing I don't have to worry about," he said in a breath of frustration. "I was generally annoyed by this clown on principle. Now, this sumabitch is just pissing me off. I'm out every night 'til the sun comes up and not in the fun way." Harvey grumbled, "Now, I just want to catch this asswipe so I can get the fuck back to sleep."

Leave it to Harvey to be more inconvenienced than creeped out by a Mike Myers serial killer.

Alvarez clumped loudly up to his desk in his kitten heels, looking somehow both dejected and infuriated. Both were undercut by the fact that he'd gone full drag queen with his askew blonde wig and his makeup which could be labelled "too garish" by Joan Rivers' standards. To say the dress he wore was yellow was an understatement. It was a hue just slightly brighter than a bursting supernova.

Harvey didn't even look up. "You ready to make it rain, princess?"

Alvarez reared up and pointed down at him. "You know somethin'? I'm gettin' really sick and tired of all the bullshit name-calling that's goin' on around here."

"All right, first of all, calm down, Birdcage. Second, you might want to remember back to when you called me a Wildebeest like five freakin' minutes ago."

"Yeah, thanks. I don't need a replay."

He stood and shrugged into his leather jacket. "I'm gonna go sign out a car. I'll be back in two shakes."

As Harvey made his way around the perimeter of the desks and back toward the annex, Madeline snuck a glance over at Alvarez. "So I take it you are you no longer enjoying monetizing your sexuality?"

He mouthed back at her. "I swear to God, this is the last night - the last night - I'm doing this shit. Tomorrow I'm gonna tell Barnes that I'm taking a day off and he can find a rookie to put in a dress and leave on a corner."

Madeline smirked to herself. "If you really want to get out of work, just start crying and tell him you have lady problems. Always works for me."

Alvarez shook his head, frowning deeply and said, "You know what? I get this day in and day out, and you all can go fuck yourselves far as I'm concerned."

She watched him carefully for a moment, and then she let her facial features relax from her mocking smile into something gentler. "... What do you mean you get this day in and day out?"

"The hell do you think I mean? I'm a walking punchline the second I step in here. Then I'm out on the corner, and I can't walk two steps without some dude either grabbing my ass or throwing me shade."

Madeline found herself frowning. "The girls on the street are giving you a hard time?"

He said, "They call me Eurotrash on a holiday."

"Well… you know, drag queens. Those bitches are mean."

"You don't know the half of it."

Madeline blinked, put aside her spoon, and stepped forward. She reached out and grabbed up Alvarez under the arm. "C'mon. Get up. Come with me."

His eyes bugged. "What?" He flinched, but he still stood up. "What's this? Where're you takin' me?"

(x)

Madeline sat perched on the edge of the sink of the ladies' room while Alvarez settled into a desk chair she appropriated from one of the backrooms. The girl's room at the GCPD had all the class of a railroad shanty and all the charm of a truck stop. Though some of the graffiti was a little more highbrow than she would have expected. She thought the "Pull here for MFA degree" right underneath the toilet paper dispenser was pretty witty by Gotham's standards.

Madeline uncapped her liquid eyeliner and instructed Alvarez to look up at the ceiling. He talked while she applied. "It's like they spend all day just thinking of fucked up shit to say once I walk out onto the scene. They said the only thing I can turn on is a microwave."

"C'mon, that's not _that_ bad."

"Then they said, 'You must've been born on a highway 'cause that's where accidents happen.'"

She changed her tune. "Ouch." Then. "Okay, don't blink."

"Sorry," he said without thinking. "Then I gotta go home to my wife and she bitches at me for having lipstick on my collar. And I'm like, 'Look, woman, what do you want from me? It's _my_ lipstick.'"

Madeline wanted to roll her eyes. 'Look, woman.' "So there's no way she bought that one."

"I'm at the Motel Six. The way things are goin' it's gonna be my permanent address," Alvarez said. "But it's right next to the Denny's, and that's where all the trannies go for breakfast once the sun comes up anyway. So, that sorta works for me."

She cleared her throat, a good therapist trick, so she wouldn't laugh at the mental image and send the wrong message. Around them, the air grew thick with steam. When they first walked in, Madeline set up his wig and a much more tasteful dress attached to a hanger just outside the shower stall before turning the nozzle on 'hot' as far as it would go. Thank God for life hacks.

She finished up with the eyeliner and moved onto eye shadow. "Those drag queens are tough as nails. But you're the new girl in town. They're probably just hazing you."

He frowned. "So it's like a sorority thing?"

"Sort of," Madeline said hesitantly. "Think about it this way. Every time you and Harvey come back off the streets, you usually pull in a whole clown car full of no-good, rotten perps who think you're sweet arm candy. Right?"

"Well," he allowed, "Yeah."

"Okay, so they're threatened by you. Here you come. This little sexpot fresh out the gate, and you're taking away all their business."

"So I'm like steppin' on their toes?"

"More like they're jealous of you. They want to ice you out or at the very least throw you off your game. So try to look at it this way… being hated on by a bunch of bitches is probably the best way to know you're doing it right."

Alvarez seemed to think on that for a long moment. Then he asked suddenly, "Does this stuff come off with remover?"

"Yeah, also it's hypoallergenic."

He said respectfully, "No shit."

"You gotta pay a little extra, but it's totally worth it." She smudged the dark mahogany brown eye shadow in with the light pastel pink. "But anyway, when you're dealing with mean girls, it can't hurt to have a few good comebacks in your back pocket. Just in case."

He cleared his throat. "Like, uh, which ones would … you know… you…"

"Would I use?" Madeline thought about it for a minute. "You might want to try … 'If you're waiting for me to give a shit, you better pack a lunch. It's gonna be awhile.' Or … 'The dumbfuck store called. They're running out of -you-.'"

He gave a clear nod of approval. "I'll have to remember that one."

Her lipstick opened with a satisfying 'pop'. "Okay, push your lips out like this…" She demonstrated and Alvarez followed suit. "Or, you could say, 'Daaaammnn, girl! Are you a smoke detector?" She lowered her pitch to sarcasm-level. "'Cause you're really fuckin' loud and annoying."

When she pulled away the lipstick, he pressed his lips together and moved them around. Then said, "How do you come up with all that?"

"I don't." She took a deep breath and announced, "These are all things that have been yelled at me. So my humiliation is now a wealth of information from which you can benefit." She said, "If you really get backed into a corner by these queens, just start spouting off lines from a girl power song. Something by Beyonce or Lily Allen. If nothing else, it'll create a distraction and give you a second to come with something better."

Alvarez sat silently for a moment as Madeline began to pack away all the contents of her make-up case. "You know…" He seemed to be working up to something, and as such, she gave him a minute. "Back when, I asked you if you wanted to dress up like a prostitute?" Madeline nodded that yes, she did vaguely recall that. "I only asked you because you can handle yourself, you know? Like in most situations."

She all but fell off the sink at the shock of hearing what sounded like a compliment trying to happen.

He added, "And you're like, attractive."

She was about to say something, when Alvarez tacked on, "You know... for a woman of your age."

Madeline immediately said, "Okay. Thank you." Alvarez went to add something else, but she spoke overtop of him. "No. Don't. Just, thank you. Stop."

She motioned for Alvarez to stand, and when he did, he looked at himself wide-eyed in the mirror. Then he turned to her and said, "Wow." He checked himself out again. "I look bangin'."

"Yeah, you're smoking hot." Then she drew in a deep breath. "Okay. Let's get your wig."

Moments later, Madeline walked out of the ladies' room with Alvarez. She'd dressed him in a slinky dark purple cocktail dress that she'd found in the very back of the closet of day-to-night hooker-wear that hadn't been updated since the late '80s. It showed off his toned arms and paired well with his skintone. She'd secured the wig with bobby pins and selected jewelry for him that was both striking and understated.

Despite the makeover transformation that put Julia Roberts in _Pretty Woman_ to shame, the men and women of the precinct reacted in just the same way they always had.

"Lookin' good, sexy!"

"Damn, child! You got the shoulders of a linebacker!"

One of the officers walked past and said, "Hey, sugar tits, you want some fries with that shake?"

Alvarez shot back. "You know, I just checked google and acting like a dick won't make yours bigger."

The room erupted in low whistles, chants of approval, and a 'kitty's got claws'.

The officer brayed back. "Hey! What the hell, asshole?"

Alvarez offered him a manly, "I'm a free bitch, baby."

Madeline stood, mouth open. She didn't even realize that she'd started clapping, along with several others in the precinct. She also didn't notice that Harvey had saddled up right beside her.

He pushed his hat up off his forehead. "Who lit a fuse on her tampon?"

She turned to him and said, "Hey, don't throw off her groove. She's on tonight."

Harvey shook his head and didn't even bother to make a snarky comeback as he hurried to follow Alvarez out of the station to their car.

Madeline sat down at Harvey's desk and grabbed up a spoon. She called after him. "I'll just be over here…" She happily settled herself into his seat. "Catching up with the chicken pot pie…"

(x)

Harvey and Alvarez got an actual honest-to-God lead close to two in the morning. They learned that one of the drag queens had seen Thirsty Lisa (their second victim) climb into a dark blue Chrysler Town and Country with a 'fish on the bumper' the night she was killed. After a moment of pure confusion, Harvey realized that they meant they saw an ichthys, better known as the line-drawing of a fish that meant "Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ". So they were either looking for a knife-wielding soccer mom, or like Gordon said, their suspect was a little more on the bible-thumping side of things.

They rolled back into the precinct only a couple hours before the sun was due to come up. As per usual.

Alvarez walked barefoot back toward the locker rooms, holding his high heels in one hand by the dainty straps. Harvey followed after him. He felt punchy. There was a hot shower in his future. Both of them came to a halt as they walked past Madeline's office. They looked through the open door to find her sprawled out fast asleep, leaning back in her desk chair, feet propped up on her desktop.

He arched an eyebrow. Then memory assisted him. The chicken pot pie. It doubled as knock out juice.

Just outside the door, Harvey moved over to the nearest water cooler and poured himself a full cup.

Alvarez saw and his eyes widened. "Are you serious?"

"Aw, c'mon. I'm just … I'm just kidding." He grinned and started drinking the water. He nodded over to her and said in a soft voice. "Why would I go and ruin it? She's nice like this."

Alvarez continued on his way back to the lockers, no doubt to change into something that wasn't featured on the front cover of 'Debutante Weekly', and despite what he'd said, Harvey padded softly, like a cat on velvet carpet, into her office. He walked over to the wicker chair in the far corner and scooped up the plush throw blanket resting in the seat.

In gentle movements, he laid the blanket down over-top of her. He was about to leave, when she shifted slightly in place. Madeline's breath hitched as she blinked open her eyes. She looked up at him, a little confused to see him there. When she smiled at him sleepily, he felt his pulse quicken.

His face pulled into a half-smile. "'Morning, sunshine."

She yawned. "I must've dozed off. … What time is it?"  
"It's a little past three a.m. Me and Alvarez just schlepped in."

He watched her realize it just like he had. "Regina's Chicken Pot Pie strikes again."

"You're outta practice. That stuff ain't for amateurs."

Madeline sat up a little and the blanket slid down. She brushed strands of hair out of her eyes. "I'm sure I'm looking quite the picture."

He murmured in clear approval, "Yes, you are."

Her mouth parted open slightly, empty of a response.

Then, they both jolted at the knock on her door. "Hey, Bullock." He turned around to see Alvarez out of his wig, but still in his dress. "You got any bar soap? I left mine back at the motel."

"Yeah, I'll hook you up." Harvey looked back to Madeline. "You gonna head home?"

"Yup, and then I'm gonna climb into bed and sleep for hours."

"Sure, rub it in why don't ya?"

She grinned and did just that. "I'm gonna pull the blinds shut. I'm gonna curl up in my comforter. Sleep like it's my job."

"Haven't you had enough? Somebody oughtta cut you off."

She stretched her arms all the way up. "It's like you always say, detective. It's five 'o clock somewhere."


	11. Leave a Trace

**All you readers are the best. I'll keep trying to thank you by posting regularly. As of right now, I'm projecting 17-18 chapters, so stay tuned. More fanfic is on the way. :) I hope everyone has an awesome, candy-filled Halloween! I'll be parading around as Tigger, trotting my almost 3-year-old around the neighborhood in his Winnie-the-Pooh costume. Because that's how we roll.**

 **Rated M: For language. As usual.**

(x)

Harvey holed up in a booze joint and drank himself into oblivion the night he got the news. For the first two weeks, the story went that Lee was out on maternity leave. Then, it was that she moved down South to be closer to her folks. When the whispers around the precinct went darker, he thought it was just Gotham's rumor mill taking a turn for the worst. Denial at its finest, he supposed. But for once the gossip train had it right. Barnes confirmed it for him that Lee lost the baby.

He couldn't say for sure if he cried or not. He vaguely remembered that when he got done drinking whiskey, tequila seemed like a reasonable replacement. Early that morning he woke up dressed in the same rags he wore the night before, lying on his bathroom floor, staring up at the light fixture on the ceiling. It was by far the first time he blacked out and still somehow made it back to his apartment in one piece. That meant things hadn't gotten so bad that he'd passed out at a bar, in a gutter, or worse.

Later that morning, Harvey got into it with one of the bureaucratic guard dogs down at City Hall. The woman behind the desk looked straight out of a government employee casting call with her gray bun, old ladies spectacles, boxy build, and distinct air of indifference.

When she asked, "Could I have your name?" He tried laying on the charm. "What s'matter with the one you got, gorgeous?" Harvey was either out of practice, still smelled like half the booze he drank the night before, or for some reason the middle-aged version of Chunk from _The Goonies_ wasn't her idea of a hot date. That went over like a lead balloon.

Everything she said and didn't say told him that she was doing him a real favor just by talking to him. Harvey ate as much humble pie as he could stomach before he blew his stack and threatened to come back every hour on the hour until she decided to, you know, do her job. Instead of -nothing-. The interaction with this government lackey ended the same as all the others. He'd make more headway sucking marbles through a straw.

He got through the rest of his workday only half-present. In the middle of doing stupid DMV checks, he wracked his brain for any legal connection he had left to put to work on the Gordon front and came up empty each time. The headache from his lingering hangover pulsed steadily, and he realized with some chagrin that he pulled a muscle in his back, probably from yelling at the paper-pusher down at City Hall.

On the short walk from the annex back to his desk, he got his confirmation that Barnes had left for the day. He saw an officer in the evidence room openly stuffing bags of cocaine down into his pockets. A detective grabbed the ass of a strung-out prostitute with both hands before he shut and locked the interrogation room door behind them. Another officer palmed a wad of cash from a slimeball in lock-up before thanking him for his contribution and telling he was free to go.

It was back to business as usual ever since Gordon got pinched. Rackets, extortion, and frame-ups were high. Oversight and fucks given were low. The place was falling apart like a Chinese motorcycle. The sad thing was Harvey'd be lying if it all didn't seem to put the universe back into balance. Just because he wasn't exactly thrilled by it didn't make it any less of a universal truth. Ten is greater than five. Always hit on a soft sixteen. Gotham and police corruption go together like rohypnol and prom night.

When the end of his shift finally came and went, he cast half an eye up to Madeline's office. The door was shut, but the light was on.

He wondered if she knew. Harvey inwardly winced and ran his hand through his uncombed mop of hair. If she didn't know by now, somebody had to tell her. It sort of exhausted him to realize that there was no one else who was going to do it. This assignment fell squarely to him.

When he knocked loudly on her door, he heard her voice call, "Come in."

Harvey found her where he usually did. At her desk, mining her way through a mountain of paperwork.

She turned her face to his, and they did that thing. Where they both read each other like some people read the newspaper.

Her dark red hair was down but nicely styled. She wore the usual steam-pressed button-down shirt and pencil skirt, paired with impossibly high heels. But her dark eyes looked tired, and he could tell her makeup had been wiped away from the dusty arcs of freckles now visible high up on her cheekbones. He thought he knew why.

After giving him a quick assessment right back, she drew her own conclusion. "When did you hear about it?"

Harvey clicked the door shut behind him and took the seat by her desk. "Last night. You?"

"This morning." She ran her hand down through her hair and let it rest at the nape of her neck. She started, "I…" Then her bottom lip quivered, and she looked away. Even with her staring off, Harvey could see tears shining in her eyes.

It hit him like a punch to the gut. It reminded him that even now he couldn't take seeing her that way.

When she snuck a glance at him, she caught the look on his face. Then she sighed and pointed vaguely to her tears. "It's fucking sad, okay? This is what this is. When someone …" Her voice broke off and then returned. "So don't ask me to stop. This is how it's done."

Harvey dealt with things by taking shortcuts to oblivion. Maddie would rather feel it all to the nth degree. He'd never understand it, not in a million, billion years.

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. He wished it didn't hurt, wished he could do something. "Look, Maddie. You gotta know-"

"Don't," she said, her voice cracking. "Just… You don't have to fix this."

He lightly tossed up his hands in frustration. He remembered suddenly how useless she could make him feel when she got like this. Don't help me. Don't do anything that concrete and natural. Just sit there while I cry buckets.

He thought quite clearly, _Yeah, fuck that._ Harvey noisily pulled his chair next to hers, and he placed a strong and steady arm around her shoulder. The coddling and patronizing would probably only piss her off… but whatever. Tough shit. When a girl's crying, men are supposed to make it stop.

He managed not to go into shock when the exact opposite happened. She turned toward him and rested her face into his shoulder, not unlike she might have six or seven years back. There were Wizard of Oz munchkins who had an inch or two on Maddie, but you'd never know it to look at her. She had a way of walking in and owning a room. Grief like this always made her look so much smaller and more fragile than she actually was.

Harvey found himself falling back into protocol himself. He shushed her, and when his hand fell to her waist, she moved in a touch. He tried not to think about how right that felt. It was anything but time for that.

This was usually the part where he'd say something vaguely reassuring. Something about how it was going to be okay, but … he realized he wasn't willing to lie to her.

Eventually, she pulled away and grabbed up a tissue from the box on her desk. After she cleaned herself up, she said, "I know it's not … It's not my life. It's not happening to me."

"It ain't like that," he said, almost chastising her. "We both know there ain't nothin' about this that's right."

"Whoever did this." She pushed hair out of her face and shook her head. "Harvey … they've ruined their lives."

Yet another line from her beacon of truth file drawer. And here Harvey sat, no closer to finding the piece of shit who did this than he was a month before.

Either his self-pity didn't show up on his face or she didn't catch it. Either way he was grateful for it. Sitting beside him, she tossed up her hand at the closed door. "Then you walk around this place. It's like someone gave all the shitheads in here the green light. I overheard one of the assholes out there talking about him today. 'Look at Jim Gordon. That's what you get. That dumbass s.o.b.'s been asking for it since he got here.'" She got on a roll and stayed there. "So I jumped in and said, Yeah, he thought what he did inside this fucking hellhole would actually change things. Tell me something. How is what he did any worse than your complete and total fucking apathy?"

Harvey sat back, letting her get it all out. He found himself surprised to find he was trying not to smile.

Madeline caught it, and then she tried not to smile, too. She heard the question in the ether, and she said, "Then he told me I was crazy." She rose up with energy, "So then I told him to shut the fuck up or I was gonna kick his dick off. Then I slammed the door in his face so hard it almost hit his nose."

Harvey let the smile break through just before he said, "That'll show 'em."

She laughed while wiping the rest of her tears away with the heel of her hand. "It wasn't even my office, so … I had to wait in this back room until he left the hallway."

He let loose a short huff of laughter and went back to rubbing his hand down her back.

They stayed like that for a minute, and Harvey set to work getting his own head in check. He tried not to let his mind go to that place where he actually felt things, but the problem was he understood too much. He knew what it was to be fighting the good fight tooth and nail, and then suddenly, there you are. Left in the midst of a battle that means nothing. Every time that sort of loss hit it was nothing but a spiral of pain and uncertainty … and when it's buried, a part of you gets buried with it.

His mind took its regular exit off the freeway. He needed a drink, needed to let the booze do its thing. Though he had his flask on standby, he decided to be decent and wait until he wasn't in her presence to do so.

When Madeline's gaze met his, she seemed to be looking for him to say something, and Harvey took the opening. "Listen, I already know what you're getting up to in that head of yours with this. But look it, it's better for you to back off. Least for the time being."

"Better for me or for him?"

"For everyone in this thing," he said. "This ain't the sorta news that should come from me or you. You need to give him time to hear about it from Lee or her people." He sat back and said, "Besides, for now, he's staying off Grey's radar and between you and me-"

"We need to keep it that way?" There was something vaguely accusing in her voice. "Maybe I should wait another two or three weeks?"

Harvey made a frustrated noise in his throat and raised his eyebrows at her. Okay, so maybe she'd figured out that he and Wilson were in cahoots, allies in the 'Madeline needs firm handling' game.

She sent him a look that was a little too knowing. Of course she figured it out. _Do you think I fell off a stump yesterday?_

Harvey opened up his hands and came clean. "Look, I trust what Wilson's got to say, all right? That man's got his fingers on the pulse of this thing. I don't."

"Yeah, well, I can guarantee you that things in that snake pit aren't any worse or any riskier than they were a month ago."

Great. This debate again. He went to shut it down. "How 'bout it ain't gettin' any less risky? Whatever goes on in Blackgate is like Wendy's chili, okay? You don't know what the fuck is going on in there, but takin' a closer look ain't the way to improve things."

Madeline took them down a different path. "Yeah, well, here's something I do know. The only thing more extensive than Blackgate's drug and contraband network is the information network. You really think by now Gordon hasn't heard about what happened?"

Good question. But when you stripped it bare, the answer was pretty simple. "I don't know for sure," he said. "And I won't 'til I go see him."

"So for the sake of argument, let's say that he does know. You really think after getting that sort of news that he _doesn't_ need to speak with a professional?"

"Let's ask all my degrees up on the wall." Then he raised his voice slightly, "Oh, wait, I don't have them up. Because I'm not a freakin' doctor. How the heck should I know?"

"I think it's pretty self-evident. Don't you?"

Harvey worked not to openly roll his eyes at her. If she ever became a WWE wrestler, he had the perfect stage name for her. She could either be 'Bulldozer' or 'Sledgehammer'. "Look, you don't know him like I do." He found himself pleased to hear the words ringing true. "Gordon's tougher than a two dollar steak. If anyone can make it through this, it's him." He patted his lips and said, "So if you don't mind, let's curtail reacting all over the place. Keep our heads with this."

Her face told him that she didn't appreciate the phrasing. It made her sit back and cross her arms. But he could tell she had more to say. He kept silent and waited her out. Finally, she caught him in that laser stare of hers. "Are you telling me that you can take another 'what if?' One more 'what if I'd just done this?' 'What if I just did that?'"

Harvey felt the full weight of her words hit him, and though he didn't say anything, Madeline nodded at his expression. "Yeah. Me either."

He breathed another heavy sigh against his closed lips.

After a long pause, Madeline asked, "You said you were going to see him?"

"Tomorrow. I'll make it a point."

She looked back at him. "Okay, I'll make you a deal. When you go to see him, if you really think he's in decent health, if you really think that he's in the right headspace even with everything that's happened, I'll stay out."

When she held out her hand, reluctantly, he shook on it.


	12. Believe

**Hello, everyone! As always, thanks for encouraging more writing insanity on my part. Happy Tuesday, and Happy Nanowrimo to all you writers out there. This year, I'm working on "Trust Fall", which will be my next Gotham FanFic. So, whether I 'win' or not, there will be a new story getting posted after this one. It will take place in between Season 2 and Season 3, because the actual writers of the show gave me a whole 6 months where Harvey Bullock is 'acting' Captain. Whee!**

(x)

Jim Gordon thought it was ironic that, before he talked to Bullock, he'd acknowledged, to himself only, that he needed his next session. He also knew it wasn't in anyone's best interest for him to be thinking that way. Just having that thought encouraged Madeline to continue to use favors and back doors, ones that could potentially lead to her being targeted or arrested on charges herself.

But he'd been in a cage too long. And despite the toll their last session had taken on him, up until seeing Harvey, he'd begun to feel… better. Not good, not great, but clearer. Not quite as raw. Not quite as numb.

There wasn't much to do at Blackgate, other than to think. The more he considered the words Madeline shared with him, the more he noticed some of the patterns she pointed out repeating themselves in his thinking and even more in his immediate actions.

It became especially apparent when he was led by Warden Grey onto F-Wing, better known as "World's End". For most the inmates, it was just that. The end of the line.

As he stepped onto the block, Jim secured his 'go ahead, try it' drill-bit stare in place, just like he had in the army, at the GCPD, and … at other points in his life. As usual, the threat of immediate physical danger gave him pinpoint focus. But that wasn't where it stopped.

The pattern reared its ugly head later that same day. With Puck, who stood up for him and got his face punched in for his trouble.

Jim wanted to ignore the fact that Puck was yet another person that he "was disinclined to let get close" or who "was worth protecting" over himself. … But he couldn't. That was the thing with therapy. Once a pattern of behavior is called for what it is and brought out in the open, it can't be denied. It's exposed. You can't continue to act it out with the same intensity, once you understand how it's destructive to yourself, or more importantly, others.

'… Or more importantly, others.'

That was the other problem. Jim was learning that once you start noticing, you can't stop.

Unfortunately, just recognizing the pattern wasn't enough. He needed a stronger, more powerful way of thinking if he was going to keep himself clear and stable. That was the whole reason he'd planned to keep the next session, if there even happened to be one. Madeline had pulled up things from his past, but she hadn't closed them back up. He knew it didn't work that way in therapy, but he at least needed the therapeutic equivalent of duct tape. His mind needed a patch-job. And fast.

Or at least, that's what he'd planned. But that was before Bullock came to call, bringing news of Lee and the baby with him.

Jim trudged down the white-washed, peeling hallways, led forward by Wilson Bishop. Now all he wanted to do was run and keep running. Unfortunately, Madeline chose to break into the prison during the time he'd usually be in the yard, sprinting around the perimeter to keep his thoughts at bay.

Instead of exhausting his body until his weary mind shut down, he walked up to a room with the only person in his life who could amplify every feeling he had to its maximum volume.

The door to the abandoned therapy room creaked open loudly. Jim only had to take one look at Madeline's face and he saw it.

He wouldn't need to tell her what happened. She already knew.

She sat in her usual position, on the other side of the dilapidated card table. She didn't greet him and didn't tell him to drink the coffee on the table. She didn't even ask about the fresh bruises on his face. She didn't say anything. She just watched him closely.

Jim eyed her apprehensively. Behind him, the door loudly shut, and Wilson took his leave, just like always. He sat down in the chair, his entire body primed for … for what? An attack? He knew it made no sense. Madeline was a lot of things but physically threatening wasn't one of them.

Or maybe it did make sense. Here in this room she could speak anything into existence. Something about him being in the center of World's End. Something about Lee. Something about the baby. She knew his weak points, nearly every one he wagered. Here he sat before her, one big open, exposed pressure point.

He found himself just slightly shaking his head. Why did she come back here? What would be the point of talking about it now at this point? What did she want him to do? Go to pieces? Break down? What good would it do?

Madeline kept silent. Jim met her stare for as long as he could. Then, he dropped eye contact. He was afraid that if she looked at him in that deep careful way for too long that she'd see too much.

The silence moved in like a cloud covering. Jim waited for it to disperse, but it hung there, thick and heavy. Madeline didn't force anything, didn't make him talk about anything. ...But that didn't mean it wasn't all right there in the room with them.

Jim stared down into the gritty cement flooring, his gaze unfocused. If someone would have asked him a couple weeks ago if he'd hit rock bottom, Jim would have said in a stern, gruff voice, "I don't know. But I think this is what it looks like." Unfortunately, it turned out rock bottom had a basement.

Now that he was at his lowest point, the only thing he could think of that would make it worse was having someone else there to witness it.

Jim closed his eyes and rolled them to himself.

He immediately dismissed the thought as soon as he had it. He knew it wasn't true.

Madeline didn't come there to rip at wounds that hadn't closed or to dig up old fears or expose his failures. That was never her intention. He'd been doing all those things just fine on his own, way before she chose to involve herself in the state of his mental health. It wasn't her fault that he was on edge and broken down and surrounded by dangerous killers threatening to end his life at every turn. No more than it was his, if he chose to believe what she so desperately wished he would.

No matter how openly he'd disagreed with every theory she presented, the more he thought about it, the more some of her assessments made logical sense. Aside from Harvey he had no close friends. He didn't confide in others. There had been only one real exception to that rule. Lee and their child had been his rock, his center. Without them, he could feel himself spinning off his axis.

Now this woman in front of him comes in here and puts her safety in jeopardy all in some thin hope of reaching him. What does he do? He does whatever he can, says anything that might get her to end things, to leave him be. To get out while she still can.

And even after all that, she hadn't let him distract her or take her off task, not in the least. She saw something needed to be done, so she did it, in spite of all the glaringly obvious reasons not to.

Something welled up inside him, and suddenly, Jim wanted to thank her. Wanted to apologize. But he knew that neither were what she wanted to hear from him. She wanted him to start talking about anything he felt, all the things he worked so hard to keep under wraps. She wanted him to do that so the people in his own life might benefit. Or more importantly, so he might benefit.

But here was the thing. He couldn't. It was just that simple. Jim couldn't do that for her, or for him, or for anyone he wagered. Not at this point. Maybe he could have done it for Lee, maybe if she'd been there that moment. Of course, she was who he really wanted to talk to in every moment, including this one.

Without moving a muscle, he briefly glanced at Madeline. She kept staring off to the side away from him, lost for the moment in her own thoughts. Today she put him in mind of one of his mother's Lladro figurines. White lace top, pale blue circle skirt. He averted his gaze as he wondered how the analysis of that might go. Probably something Freudian. If wasn't something he ever would have spoken out loud, but he was still glad he hadn't.

Madeline sat up and ran her hands through her hair, smoothing the strands down over her shoulder. She waited a long moment before she began to speak. "My first internship I worked for Hospice Care. I was twenty-one, just out of college. So I already knew everything, of course. When I met with the families, I tried to say things to make it all better, to bring them some kind of comfort as they watched someone they loved pass away. But every time I opened my mouth to talk ... I just made things worse. I got so frustrated one day that I asked my supervisor to give me some talking points, some go-to phrases that would help them feel better about everything." A wistful smile quirked onto her face. "He looked at me very strangely, and he said, 'Why do you think you have to say something?' I got pretty quiet and felt sort of embarrassed. And he said, 'You don't have to say anything. All you have to do is be there with them.'"

Listening to the soft sound of her voice, Jim felt some of the tension that knotted up inside him begin to uncoil. Construction in his chest eased and for the slightest moment, his breathing was more relaxed.

Jim hadn't even begun to address let alone get over the pain of losing his child and his connection to Lee. He was certain Madeline knew that about him before he even stepped inside the room with her. They both knew grief didn't work that way. Pain like that had a way of sticking around for the long haul. Jim also knew it could all be suppressed behind a facade, if the person worked hard enough. But even if he put on a performance that put DeNiro to shame, it wouldn't work with her. So he saved his energy and let the grief fall upon him in whatever capacity it naturally would. He let it sink him down, and he allowed himself to look however he was going to look sitting across from her.

He half-expected himself to cry. He wouldn't even have minded if he did. Normally, Jim took pride in not crying. Now he wanted to and he wasn't sure if he could.

Instead of crying, something else happened. In letting go, he experienced one clear, quiet moment of relief.

When Jim lifted his head, he found Madeline staring straight back at him. Something came over her. She wore a look of deep concern. He realized that he'd never seen her look at him that way, not in any of their previous sessions. Maybe she was affected more than he thought she'd be, seeing the grief wash over him. … Or maybe, as she'd implied, he read her as caring for him far less than she actually did.

Madeline hesitated. Then she reached out and touched the sleeve of his shirt.

It got his absolute attention, which was no doubt exactly why she'd done it.

She leaned in slightly and said, "I know you think that there's no way for you to get out of this place. But I need you to hear something."

Jim felt his chest swell up, and he met her eye.

She looked back at him. "I need you to know that when Harvey tells you that he's coming for you and he's getting you out?" She whispered, "He's coming for you and he's getting you out."

He felt his face smile just slightly. It was tired and weary, and it wasn't much of one. But it still happened. Madeline smiled wanly back at him, removed her hand, and sat back in her chair.

They didn't discuss his partner in session. Given his and Madeline's obvious history, Jim always figured there was a therapist rule against that. But since she was the one who spoke it into the room, he said, "I know that." His voice sounded hoarse as he made a safe guess, "For the same reason you do."

Madeline's smile widened slightly before it muted again. "Because those of us lucky enough to make it into the inner circle get the V.I.P. treatment."

Jim breathed a short noise that might have become a laugh under different circumstances. As they sat there, Jim realized that at some point during the session she'd switched roles on him. She wasn't talking to him like a therapist. She was talking to him like she was his friend.

Just then, the silence was broken by the buzz of her phone, set on vibrate.

She lifted the phone to her eyes. Jim had never seen her answer her phone in a session before either. Madeline's face paled slightly, and she quickly texted back.

Jim felt himself frowning. "Madeline, what-"

He broke off suddenly as he heard a door at the end of the hallway bang open, metal on concrete. Jim swerved around in his seat, all nerves. All at once, he shot up, primed for action. He heard pounding, urgent footsteps rushing toward them. Boots the guards wore, but not Wilson Bishop's. There were two, no, three of them, heading straight for them.

Jim ran forward and grabbed Madeline by the arm, yanking her up to her feet in one swift motion. He ordered her in a hard voice, "You have to get out of here. Run! Right now!"

He went to jolt her forward with him, but she anchored herself and didn't budge. He briefly considered grabbing her up, throwing her out of the room, and forcing her to make a run for it. But she remained absolutely still. "No," she said decisively. "It's like I said, Jim. I'm not going anywhere."

He pulled her arm toward him and lowered his voice into a growl of authority. "You have to go. If you run, you can make it-"

"If I did, would it help?" She looked at him evenly.

Jim gritted his teeth against his closed mouth. Looking at her, he realized that her mind was made up. She'd put these events into motion. She wouldn't abandon them now.

Behind him, he heard the guards' footsteps approaching. In seconds, they would be there. A frustrated sigh escaped from between his lips, and he released her arm.

Madeline calmly took her seat and smoothed down her skirt. She leveled her gaze forward, took a deep breath, and watched the door. She sat patiently, waiting for it to open.


	13. Nobody Move, Nobody Get Hurt

**Thanks for reading, everyone! This story will have 18 chapters, so 5 more to go. I'll be posting pretty regularly from here on out, too. I hope everyone's weekend's off to a great start. Happy Saturday, y'all!**

(x)

The door banged hard against the wall as it was thrown open. A guard burst through who stood well over six feet tall and had biceps a little smaller than the size of basketballs. He sent Jim a smirk to let him know that there would be hell to pay for this, and then his eyes found Madeline.

He curled his lip at her. "Madeline Scott. Still stickin' that nose of yours where it doesn't belong."

Her voice had a bite. "Hello, Conway. Still on the 'roids? Still living with mom?"

His stare darkened noticeably, but that was his only comeback. Immediately after, a second guard cleared the doorway. Jim felt his stomach start to sink. His name was Hollister. It was unclear if he was gunning for a promotion or if he just had a natural affinity for the more perverse aspects of the job. Like Conway, he also had the stature of a boxer, heavyweight division.

Jim's stomach dropped the rest of the way as Warden Carlson Grey stepped forward, looming from just inside the doorway.

The warden shot Madeline a furious look. She stared back defiantly.

Jim didn't think it was possible for Grey to look any more livid than he did, but he was wrong. Rage rolled off the warden in waves as he locked onto Jim. His voice held the first rumblings of anger. "Put your back up against the wall, inmate. Remain silent." Jim did as he was told, and then Grey turned back to Madeline. "And you. Get on your feet."

She took her time, reaching down to get her purse. "Carlson. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you'd mistaken me for one of your inmates."

Grey ordered, "Search them."

Hollister effortlessly hoisted Madeline up onto her feet and had her assume the position. Conway did the same with Jim, checking him for contraband, but Jim kept his eyes on Madeline. The guard handled her more roughly than necessary, though he couldn't say that surprised him. Jim overheard her mumble a remark about how maybe he could buy her dinner first. Hollister snarled in her ear that maybe he could fuck her up a little and soften her ass up. It brought silence.

Both guards came up empty. When he was done, Hollister presented her back to the warden.

Grey seethed out, "What the hell are you doing here with this inmate?"

Madeline's eyeroll went for boredom. "And here I thought that was obvious. I've been sitting here talking to him."

Behind her Hollister dumped out the contents of her purse onto the table. He rooted around, and a satisfied look crossed his face as he lifted up a familiar keycard off the table.

Grey snatched the card from him and held it up to Madeline between his fingers. "Where'd you get this?"

She kept her tone blunt. "It is shocking how many former employees of yours just could not wait to coach me on how to bypass security." She patted her lips. "If you ask me, you're lucky I found this surveillance gap before one of your inmates did."

Grey zeroed in on her and slowly stepped closer, until he moved right up against her. "I'm not in the mood for games, Madeline."

She stared up at him. "Well, that's good. I left my Twister mat back at the office."

Jim felt his head shaking. Weeks ago he couldn't imagine her going to to toe with the warden and the guards. Now, he could see it just fine. Unfortunately, that wasn't good news for either of them.

Grey ignored the comment. He leaned in very close to her. "We're gonna try this one more time. You're going to tell me what you're doing here with this inmate..." He sucked in a sharp intake and barked down in her face, " **And you're going to tell me who the hell let you into my prison! I want names, and I want them -now-."**

Madeline stayed still as a statue. Apparently, she didn't crack that easy. "I'll tell you the same thing I told you six years ago." Now she was the one leaning in. "Screaming that you want to hear something different doesn't change what the answers are."

The warden's eyes fell to slits and his jaw tightened.

She narrowed her gaze. "So if you're planning to ask me the same questions over and over again, we could all be here for a very long ti-"

Hollister squeezed his hand tight around her upper arm. It took the words out of her mouth. The skin around his fist turned white, but Madeline still fired a glare at him.

Grey growled to himself for a moment and stared off in thought. Jim could almost hear his mind ticking over. He was deciding what to do with her. The way Jim saw it Grey had two options on the table. He could decide she wasn't worth his time and call the brass. Or (and the longer they stood there, the more this one seemed likely) he could set Hollister to work prying more useful information out of her.

Or at least … that was what Jim initially thought.

An ice cold shiver drew a line down his back as the warden's stare moved to meet his. He openly studied Jim, and something clicked into place. Some realization. Grey flicked his eyes away and sent Hollister a pointed look.

It seemed they'd developed their own unspoken language. The guard gave an almost imperceptible nod. Then he yanked Madeline forward by the arm. Conway grabbed Jim and pulled him out the door, right on their heels.

All five of them walked out into the wide hallway. Hollister thrust Madeline out of his grip. Though she stumbled a little, she managed to stay on her feet. In the meantime, he and the warden settled in front of her. Grey looked irate, but also strangely gratified.

Jim's heart rate increased significantly. Something was happening. For some reason... Grey was enjoying this.

She gave him a dirty look, clearly annoyed at being shoved around. "I suppose I should be flattered. I had no idea I was so threatening that you'd need this much muscle to protect you."

Grey took her in and paused for effect. "When they said they caught you on camera, I didn't believe it," he said. "I had to see it for myself."

Jim held back a sigh. So she got confident and cocky… and careless. Unfortunately, he knew the feeling.

The warden continued, "I've had inmates try to break out of my prison. But I have to admit. You're the first one who's been stupid enough to break in."

"I know, can you imagine? Me arrested for breaking into _your_ prison." She lightly pressed her fingertips against her throat. "I mean, how embarrassing. For me."

Madeline was too focused on holding her own with Grey to notice the change in Hollister and Conway's demeanors. They stood on the balls of their feet, tense, on edge. But Jim noticed it. Just as he did every subtle hint, every warning sign that told him this situation was no longer in her control.

"I considered that," Grey said. "Putting you under arrest. I'd see you shipped down the road to our women's facility." He leered at her. "We'd find out if orange is your color."

Madeline laughed dangerously against her closed mouth and rose up. "Do it," she dared him. "I would turn that place … Up. Side. Down."

"We'd take care of that rebellious streak of yours. The block I'd put you on would cure you of that." His voice turned dark and menacing. "Except we both know a prison sentence won't happen. Not with you."

She went still and blinked at his words. She'd been ready for a verbal sparring match, but that wasn't what was happening. She kept her face hard and set. But Jim had gotten to know her over the past months. Even if he hadn't, he knew fear when he saw it.

There was a long, silent pause on Grey's end. "So where does that leave me? I can't alert the authorities, not when you contract with them. Not when you'd just slip your way out of handcuffs." He motioned to her. "And you said yourself, I can't let the media get wind of this. It might be … an embarrassment."

Hollister took a step closer, so he was standing in line with Grey.

A steel band wrapped around Jim's chest and drew tight. And just like that, it awoke that practical, disciplined side to him. The part that watched every move of every person around him, evaluated their abilities, guessed at their intentions, and mapped out defensive and offensive strategies all at once.

Understanding reeled through his mind. Jim was a target in here. That was no secret. But up until this point he hadn't been sure that he'd made it to the top of Grey's hitlist. Now he knew. All Grey lacked before this was opportunity. And here comes Madeline … to unwittingly provide him with one.

Grey didn't like the headline - a brazen psychologist breaks into his prison to provide therapy to an inmate. But Jim was beginning to think the warden had one he liked better. Jim Gordon, a dangerous psychopath, lures Madeline Scott into Blackgate and murders her in cold blood.

The story wrote itself. Later tonight, it would make for a good cautionary tale for the 6' o clock news.

Maybe one of the guards came across Jim just after. He was wild after his kill. With his extensive training in hand-to-hand combat, the guard had no choice but to put him down for his own safety. It wrapped things up in a nice, clean way.

Grey's words and Hollister's movements lulled her into a silence, and some fly-through of good sense made Madeline backpedal. She was starting to piece it together.

She maintained control over her facial expressions, but her complexion still lost color. "You're going to want to think this through, Carlson," she warned him, her voice low and intense. "Think about if you're really prepared to kiss that political career of yours good-bye." She vaguely tossed up her hand at Jim. "All over one little inmate. The police, I.A., the press scrutinizing your every move, putting together what really happened." She glowered at him. "And once they start poking around, we both know there's no end to what they'll find."

"That's always been your weakness. You never could see yourself from the perspective of the people that run this city." Grey's eyes shone with a disturbing glint. "You're a problem. And those in power appreciate it when their problems … go away."

Jim knew what needed to be done if either Hollister or Grey took one more step. The guards had their batons. They were close to twice his size, but he reminded himself that the bigger they are the harder they fall. There was only one gun and it was in the warden's concealed ankle holster. They could shoot him, but they couldn't shoot her. It didn't go with the story. Jim could hold them off until Grey pulled the trigger. It would buy her a few seconds at least. She could make a run for it. Hell, for all he knew, she might even make it. Understanding what needed to be done and knowing he would do it, in its own way, was the strangest, most powerful relief he'd felt in some time.

Somehow Madeline knew to hold steady. So no one would panic. Jim hoped she knew to keep doing it. She sent them a fierce stare. "You think I was a thorn in your side before? Do this, and you'll be cursing my name from a prison cell. Right up until every inmate in here tears your life to shreds."

Grey looked unbothered by her assertions. His eyes found Jim's. "From what I've seen, this city's quick to turn its back on those who pose a problem…" He turned back to Madeline with calm resolve. "I think I'll take my chances."

Grey shot Hollister a glance. It was a look Jim knew all too well. 'Get it done.'

Hollister stepped toward her with clear intent, and Jim felt himself moving.

The door down the hall slammed open with a loud 'BANG', and Jim turned to see Wilson Bishop hurrying toward them. "Warden!" he called.

Grey, Conway, and Hollister all snapped their attention to the new arrival. Jim immediately looked to Madeline. She flinched in place and released a short, shaky breath, but otherwise, she didn't budge. In the time it took Conway and Hollister to turn back to her, she set herself back in stone.

Grey growled out, "What the hell is this, Bishop?"

Wilson did a good job of looking confused, annoyed, and then infuriated by the scene that met him. Then he focused on the matter at hand. Jim's mouth parted open. The man deserved an Oscar. "GCPD detectives are on site, sir," Wilson said. "We tried to hold them off but they barged through with a warrant to search the premises. Something about someone …" His stare fell to Madeline. "Breaching security."

The anger on her face melted into a tight, razor-edged smile. And when Grey turned back, he caught it.

He glared daggers at her. At the same time, Jim heard the faint sound of hard, purposeful footsteps coming closer toward them from behind the closed hallway door. Grey coldly stared down Jim for a long moment.

The warden all but spit at him, "Put this inmate back on his block. Now. I want eyes on him at all times." He looked back at Madeline and said through his teeth, "And get this bitch out my sight."

The guards seized them again and as they led them forward, Grey rasped at her. "You might think you have reach, but you won't always be under the watch of whatever detective you're fucking over at that precinct."

"You're right," she said. "That scene is becoming a little overdone for me." She kept staring forward. "Maybe I'll change things up and head over to City Hall. I could ask a few questions as to why there aren't more cameras in here. Makes me wonder what they might find."

It sounded like a bluff, but it still drew blood. Grey's voice sent a chill up Jim's spine. "You'll regret that, Madeline."

She ignored him and looked to Jim. Now that he was closer to her, he could see how pale her face was. She said softly but with conviction, "I'll see you soon."

Jim shared an uneasy glance with her as they were led off in separate directions.

As Conway dragged him back to F-Wing, he chuckled to himself. "Yeah, sooner than she thinks."


	14. Save Tonight

**Thanks for reading along, lovely people. It's always fantastic seeing that there are people out there keeping up with this story. Hope everyone's week is going about as good as can be. :) This chapter is Rated M because Harvey Bullock. 'Nuff said.**

 **(x)**

 **'get out now'**

Not 'they know'. Not 'they're coming', but 'get out now'.

Madeline got the text from Wilson right before she heard the guards running toward them.

Conway whisked Jim Gordon back to his block, and Hollister jostled her out into an operational section of the prison. She whirled in place as she heard and then saw Harvey heading straight for her. When his eyes locked onto hers, she released a long, whooshing breath that she didn't even realize she'd been holding back.

He marched up to them with Alvarez and three flatfoots in full uniform trailing just behind.

Harvey's voice boomed, "Well, well, what do we have here? This must be that suspicious character we got a call about lurking around this place." He reached her and said to the guard, "Step back, hoss. Better leave this one to me."

Hollister tightened his iron-clad grip on her bicep, seemingly just to show Harvey he could. Pain shot up through her shoulder.

When Harvey leaned in, there was a hint of steel to his voice. "You're gonna move your arm. Or I'm gonna break it in three places."

It got results. Hollister dispatched of her much like he did in the hallway, like she disgusted him. But Madeline didn't care. She felt a rush of relief so complete that her head swam as Harvey pulled her in toward him.

Warden Grey charged forward, still pinning Madeline with his death-glare.

Harvey looked to Grey with dry indifference. "Afternoon, warden. We'll take things from here, get this little hellraiser off your hands. Good thing us boys got here when we did." It turned out Harvey couldn't help but let some hostility seep into his tone. "Who knows what kinda damage mighta got done."

His frown magnified, getting his eyebrows into the act. "Give me your search warrant."

He handed over the crinkled paper, and Grey scanned it. "Ah, you know what," Harvey said. "Keep it. I got another one just like it out in the car."

It earned both of them a black look. "Get the hell out of my prison. Now."

"You got it, chief." He made a helicopter motion with his left hand, and Alvarez and the rookies turned and followed them out. He called back as he led Madeline away. "No need to thank us. All in a day's work. Just doing the job."

As they made their way out of the prison, Madeline's mind raced. She was walking out alive because Harvey blazed a path to her, but they had Jim Gordon right where they wanted him. She had to tell Harvey. He had to know that Grey was going to kill him outright, in his prison, where no one could stop him, and …

Harvey suddenly grabbed her up around her waist, holding her tight at his hip, and Madeline blinked in confusion. What …? What was he doing?

Then, she realized. Harvey caught on before she did. She felt her legs start to buckle. Beneath her, the floor slanted as the room began to spin.

He leaned in close as he half-carried her, keeping her upright. "Almost there. Just a few more feet. Car's parked right out front."

They walked through the glass doors of the entrance, and a rush of cold winter air hit her, pushing back her hair from her face. That helped keep her present. After Harvey helped her down the steps, he opened the car door, and she dropped heavily into the passenger seat. From there, it was a blur. He held his hand against her back and told her to put her head between her knees and breathe deep.

When the world came back into focus, she sat up and found that Harvey draped his leather jacket over her shoulders. That's right. She left her coat, her purse, and all its contents back inside the prison.

She took in her surroundings. In the time it took her to come back around Harvey had driven them a few blocks up. He'd pulled over and parked off the side of the road to wait her out.

He held out a bottle of water to her, which she accepted. She uncapped it and took a careful sip.

After keeping the water down, she leaned back against the seat. She breathed in the scent of his jacket, leather, cigar smoke, and lingering traces of Old Spice. It was unreal to her that no matter how much time passed… this was still the safest place to be. Her muscles began to relax and her breathing slowed to its normal pace.

Harvey said, "Take it easy. There ain't no rush. But when you can, start talking to me about what the hell happened back there."

Madeline took a breath and told him everything.

(x)

 **'It's bad. Get here.'**

Being innately pessimistic had its advantages. After Harvey told Gordon about Lee and the baby, he saw the toll it took on him, and he kept his word to Madeline. But it came with a stipulation. After learning that Gordon had been moved onto F-Wing, the two of them sat down and put together a better plan than just 'you'll call me'.

He made sure Alvarez and the rookies were patrolling nearby and he scooped up a couple blank search warrants signed by Judge Baker. (They littered the precinct like parade confetti.) Then he settled in a few blocks away, keeping an eye on his cell phone. When the text came through, he saw that his bleak outlook as usual was right on the money.

Madeline got him up to speed, even did him the favor of keeping it to 'just the facts ma'am'. But Harvey only had to take one look at her to get the jist of what happened. She'd just about keeled over back there, and this was far from her first shakedown. There were girls who were made of cloth and others made of steel. Maddie was solidly in the latter camp. She knew how to navigate scrapes that went South. If anything, she was usually interested in seeing how far she could take things before they did. … Case in point.

Harvey knew there was no way Madeline would get off light with Grey. He also knew a little too much about how scenarios like these played out. They'd use the classic scare tactics: threaten her, frisk her for an excuse to put their hands where they didn't belong, probably take her through the whole interrogation schtick. Powertrip types like Grey got off on that shit.

He figured at worst they'd rough her up, if tempers flared and her pride got the best of her. Harvey tried to warn her about it, oh, only eight dozen times. How she'd be up against naked cruelty, against men with no conscience. But he wasn't telling her anything she didn't already know, so none of it fazed her. She found it acceptable to weather that for Gordon's sake.

So if her number came up, it was Harvey's job to roll up in that piece and bust her out of there, hopefully before they got too physical with her, definitely before they got into a rhythm.

Turned out Grey and his guards worked fast when they had the right motivation. It was impossible to miss the bruises from where they'd strong-armed her. But other than that, there'd been little to no build-up to shit getting real.

Grey gave the nod to have both her and Gordon killed. Plain and simple. Pretty strong, given the offense. If Harvey had even thought it was a remote possibility, he never would have let Maddie walk back in there, and he knew without a doubt Gordon and Wilson wouldn't have either.

So Warden Grey was down for murdering at will. No big surprise there.

But in this particular case, what didn't fit was that he'd pitch a fit for his own discomfort. Grey looked out for Numero Uno, hands down, all day every day. A double homicide at his prison, one being a civilian? That was a lot of media attention. A lot of government entities up in his business. And his business at Blackgate was read: shady as fuck. The warden had a lot of skin in the game, and there were plenty of ghosts buried in that prison. Grey wasn't looking to have any of them raised.

Harvey knew that she'd been a serious source of frustration for the warden back in her heyday. But if the thought of Madeline in a body bag really got Grey's dick hard, Christ, he had two years and every opportunity to get it done way back when. So it wasn't about that.

Instead, it shed light on another, more pressing, more urgent problem. Somewhere along the way, Grey became fixated upon and fully committed to an outcome with Gordon. Which meant-

"He's gonna kill him, Harv," Madeline said in the midst of her own thoughts. "As soon as he gets his next chance."

She took the words right out of his mouth.

He expelled a hard sigh against his lips. And that changed things. All the way.

She turned to look at him with wide, round eyes. "He has to get out of there. It can't happen next week or next month. It has to happen _now_."

"I know that." He said it the way some people say 'the grass is green' or 'Pink Floyd is a band, not some guy'. He took her gently by the shoulder to get her full attention. "I'm gonna make moves with this thing, but I need you to be out of harm's way, all the way. From here on out, you need to let me handle this."

Madeline looked back at him. Harvey waited patiently for the argument, the 'fuck that', the predictable rash of shit about how like hell she was going to take a backseat.

She said it softly. "Okay."

Harvey flinched at her, but managed not to do a double take. She didn't demand to be involved. She didn't stubbornly insist that two sets of eyes were better than one and she might see something he didn't.

Then something heavy and hard sunk down inside him. Worry creased his brow as he looked at her.

Okay, so she told him she got close … But she left out just how close. Harvey stared away, quelling some of his immediate thoughts about that _fucking piece of shit_ and the scum-sucking, limpdick thugs who did his dirty work. He got a good look at the guard no doubt assigned the hit. Gotham, if nothing else, had a way of bringing folk back together. And Harvey gave one hell of a reunion.

There was a lot more to sift through, a lot to unpack, but he shoved it off. He didn't have time for that.

But one more thought snuck through. _Thank God. Thank God, I got there before..._

He felt her hand take his, and she said something that he didn't expect. "I trust you." Then. "You know that."

He released a heavy breath, and he gripped her hand. He stared down and gently ran his thumb over her knuckles as they sat there.

Then Madeline looked up at him. "Thank you for getting me out of there."

It corkscrewed right down to his heart, and Harvey swallowed against his dry throat. Impulsively, he lifted her hand up to his lips. "Any time."

She sent him a small, tired smile. Then she nodded, because she knew that.

He let go of her hand to start the car, and he drove them back.

(x)

Harvey saw it with the perps who came in for their regularly scheduled legal check-ins all the time. He'd often had the thought that for a select group of dirtballs they should just install a revolving door. It'd be more efficient.

It made sense, he guessed. Crooks and low-lives hit their mid-forties and start asking "what's it all about?" Before you knew it, they were moving into more legitimate enterprises. There were so many other ways to turn a buck in this town, besides your prostitution, drug, and illegal ferret smuggling rings. Why limit yourself?

But even with the best of intentions, it never worked out. Career criminal types couldn't help themselves really. They'd start out legit, but once the going got the tiniest bit rough, they'd throw up their hands and revert back to their standard criminal ways. Couldn't help it. Harvey vaguely wondered if that was an untapped market. Loan sharking was addictive, sure, but where were the support groups?

Harvey understood it. He was one Kenny G or Captain and Tennille song on hold away from losing his goddamn mind. Doing things on the up-and-up was fine when you had time to burn. But Harvey didn't have that luxury anymore. He'd tried the right way. Now it was time to do things the way he so often elected. The way that fucking worked.

He took a back alley into a speakeasy he knew all too well. He did the complicated knock, and the old timer behind the door let him inside without a second glance. Here he was known.

Harvey got to saddle up alongside a couple girls he knew, some trying to sell him their company, some just giving a friendly 'hello'. That was pretty heavenly. But hey now, he didn't come there to get drunk and fuck prostitutes. Well, he did come there for that, but that wasn't the _only_ reason he was there.

Finally, he saw the one he wanted. He made his way nice and easy like up to a hostess with long, dark black hair and a sharp, pale face. This girl had moxy that went on for days. She didn't know him, not yet, but he knew her.

The foxy maven noticed him walking toward her. She looked him up and down, clearly unimpressed with what she saw. Her voice was like a door slamming shut. "What do you want?"

This city. Always with the pleasantries. "I hear you're the lady to talk to if I want to set up a meet with the man upstairs." In most places that meant God. In Gotham it meant something else.

She weighed him with her eyes. "I might be. Who wants to know?"

"Harvey Bullock." Cavorter at large. Dabbling police officer. Part-time comedian. She didn't ask for more, so he didn't give her all his titles or let her know that he had reasonable rates.

She didn't give up her name, but she did say. "I've heard of you."

"Oh yeah?" When she didn't provide anything else, he shrugged. "Well, you know, can't all be true."

She sounded bored. "You're a funny old man."

"You're a funny criminal."

She was still trying to place him. "Which family are you with?"

"I'm not a gangster, ma'am."

"You a cop?"

He wondered what gave it away. The everything or the everything. He put up his hands. "Busted."

The air between them cooled, and the lady looked away. He was starting to worry that he took a misstep somewhere, until she turned to him and said, "I'll put in a word."

"Thanks, sweetheart. 'Preciate it." Harvey slipped her a generous donation which she accepted. He started to go, but then turned back. "If you need my number, I can-"

"He doesn't need it." She said if as if she was annoyed that it had to be said at all. With that, she was done with him. She walked away and disappeared into a back room.

Right. Don't call us. We'll call you.

Harvey had spent a month and a half cutting his way through bureaucratic red tape, spending all day every day on hold, trying to make headway to get Gordon out from behind prison bars.

Falcone's people got back in touch with him before the sun came up.


	15. Breakout

**Man, oh, man. I love writing Jim and Harvey. I truly look forward to their interactions on the show. I had a good time with this chapter, and I hope all you wonderful readers will, too. This is Rated M because Harvey and his crass, politically incorrect humor is here. Thanks a ton for reading along, folks!**

(x)

The lingering adrenaline rush kept the first five or ten minutes of their getaway quiet. Once they hit the interstate, Jim Gordon changed into a fresh undershirt and button down that Harvey had waiting for him in the backseat. As he listened to the tires thump on the road and watched the speedometer clear seventy, Jim had a similar thought to the one his partner spoke aloud outside the prison.

 _I can't believe it worked._

From the driver's seat, Harvey got Jim up to speed on how he managed to pull off the jailbreak. He and Falcone apparently saw eye to eye on what needed to happen and arrangements were made. Jim caught Harvey up on his own thrilling rescue operation back inside the prison, grabbing up Puck from the infirmary and breaking him out of the prison along with him. Jim's favorite part was when Bishop clobbered Warden Grey in the back of the head and he went down like a ton of bricks.

It earned an appreciative cackle from Harvey. He muttered "serves him right, fuckwipe" under his breath as he kept one hand on the wheel.

Then he mumbled an expletive as his cell phone loudly rang at his side. "Told her not to call me…" Harvey answered it and brayed, "The hell do you want?" What sounded like a male voice loudly complaining filtered through. "Look, Alvarez, I don't care if they call you a bitch in heat. Just get out there and shake your moneymaker. Keep a lookout for that SUV while you're at it. … The fuck you care? It's my night off. Get your ass back to work. Quit callin' me." Harvey ended the call, cutting off Alvarez as he shouted insistently on the other end.

Jim arched an eyebrow. "...Her?"

"Oh yeah, Alvarez had a sex change while you were gone. But you gotta play it cool. It gets her panties in a bunch if you make it a thing."

Jim's eyes went as wide as saucers.

Harvey looked at him the rear-view mirror with a shit-eating grin. "You should see the look on your face."

Jim made a production out of sighing.

Harvey kept going, "I can't believe you bought that shit." He let out a deep, rumbling breath. "Let's see, what else have you missed since you've been on the inside… We take Ubers now instead of cabs. Everybody's eating kale chips and swearing they don't taste like dogshit." Harvey brightened, "Oh, and apparently at Arkham now you can pay somebody off to type up a paper declaring that you're sane in the membrane." He added, "So if this little escapade had gone ass up over ankles, that would have been our next move."

"Get me transferred to Arkham on the grounds of criminal insanity and then have me declared sane. That was your next move?"

"There were a lot of moving parts. It was a work in progress."

"Nice to know there was a plan B."

As Harvey put his focus back on the road, he threw up his hand at the car riding his bumper behind him. "Look at Speedy Gonzalez over here with his goddamn brights on. If I wasn't driving a stolen prison van, I'd pull his ass over purely on principle." He yelled at the driver, though of course he couldn't hear him. "What're you?! Late for your Mensa meeting? Could you go the fuck around me? Jesus Christ."

Jim shook his head and felt himself smiling. Every person who drove slower than Harvey was an idiot. Everyone who drove faster was a maniac. Yep, he realized. He'd missed this.

Harvey looked back at him. "By the way, I come bearing refreshments."

He raised his eyebrows. "Oh yeah?"

"Look to your right. They're on ice. Just the way God intended."

Jim broke open a small red cooler, the type usually saved for picnics or trips to the beach, and he found six long-necks resting inside.

He pulled out a bottle and snicked off the cap with an opener tied to the side of the cooler. Jim swallowed against his dry throat, watching the carbonation bubble up. Then he closed his eyes and drank his beer like a free man.

"Pretty good, right?"

Jim gave a full nod. The words 'Elixir of the Gods' came to mind.

From the front seat, Harvey said, "You're gettin' what every ex-con dreams about. A bottle of suds and good lookin' driver."

Jim huffed a short laugh and took another long drink of beer. He thought about offering one to Puck, who sat in the front seat, but the kid passed out almost the second they squealed away and bounced out onto the open road. Jim checked on the kid. Puck was still breathing. Unfortunately, it was so labored and heavy that it was impossible not to hear.

Jim stared down at his beer. A few moments of silence passed before another thought struck him. "Is she okay?"

It took only a second for Harvey to catch what he meant. "Yeah," he answered in an entirely certain way. "She got shook up some, but she pulls up quick on the recovery."

Jim nodded, glad to hear it. The more he thought about it, the more his brow furrowed. Madeline wouldn't want him to apologize or take more than his share of responsibility, but it was hard to go against his first instinct. Then he remembered what Harvey told him back at the prison, to quit it with the self-pity. So he said, "She held her own in there."

Harvey didn't sound surprised. "Yeah, well, she didn't know she was takin' that risk but she knew the rest of 'em."

Jim frowned and looked up from where he'd rested his forearms on his knees. "... She did?"

"You step in a bucket of snakes, you're gonna take some bites. It don't take rocket science."

And she did it anyway. Jim glanced over at where Puck rested his head back against the seat. He considered their actions, both Puck and Madeline's, how they'd put themselves in life-threatening danger for him. His next thought was fraught with baffled confusion. _… Why would they do that?_

It brought Jim back to one of their last sessions. Madeline had said 'Maybe I feel it's worth it.' He was beginning to think that Puck had felt the same. He sighed to himself. It wasn't a reaction he wanted to inspire.

Harvey idly said, "Hopefully, this means she's gotten her danger junkie fix for the month. From now on, if she needs a thrill, she can get a groupon for white water rafting or bungee jumping, you know, like normal people." He said, "I told her to do me a favor. Never become a spy."

Jim took another long pull of beer. "By my count, that makes three people that got busted out of Blackgate in a little over twenty-four hours."

Harvey said easily, "Hey, I sprung you two outta the clink. As usual, I let Dr. Quinn, Felony Woman off with a stern warning and a bald-faced lie that she was no longer a threat to society."

A throaty, scratchy voice sounded from the front seat. "Whoa." Puck blinked open his bleary eyes, taking in the van. "...Well, that's a different kinda Uber."

Jim looked on and a startled laugh broke from between his lips. Turned out Puck had been more awake and aware than they thought.

Harvey said to Puck, "Yeah, you boys looked like you could use a ride, so…"

Puck said, "This is new for me. I've never been part of a jailbreak before."

Harvey said, "Join the club. We'll learn as we go." Then he said to Jim, "Grab the kid a beer, would ya?"

Jim popped a bottle open and helped Puck take a drink. The kid let off a sigh of relaxation as he took a swig of lager. "Oh man … that hit the spot," he said appreciatively.

The car went quiet for a moment, and then Puck asked Harvey, "Were you talkin' 'bout your girl?"

Harvey rose to the occasion. "Here's a little factoid for you, kid. With me, it's girls. Plural." Jim smirked and kicked back his beer as he listened to a speech he'd heard many times before. "I ain't much for pickin' favorites. I love 'em all."

Puck said, "So, you're an expert on the ladies?"

Harvey said, "Let's just say I put in the man hours. It's a lot of work for a guy with a mug like mine to even reach vague consideration level. It's a full time job gettin' the women of this town to love me."

Puck coughed long and loud. "I got a girl back home," he said in a scratchy voice. "She's real pretty. She's got class. She's the type you bring home to meet the family. But I sorta … got arrested before things could really take off, y'know?"

Harvey nodded sagely, as if this was a story as old as the hills. Though in Gotham, it probably was.

Puck said, "So, what do you do when you really like a girl, but you're not exactly sure where you stand, you know what I mean?"

Harvey said, "I'm gonna be clear and real about my record here and tell you that I'm not the guy you wanna ask."

Puck turned his head back toward Jim as best he could. Jim tried not to frown at the fresh blood and bruises that covered the kid's face. "What do you think, Detective Gordon? What's my best move?"

Jim didn't remind him that he was no longer a detective this time. He also didn't tell the kid that he definitely wasn't the guy to ask either. Instead, he thought for a moment. "I say you get her to talk to you. Tell you what's on her mind."

Puck nodded at the advice.

When Harvey looked at him from the rear view mirror, Jim shrugged. It was the best he could come up with on short notice.

Puck said, "Worse comes to worse. I figure I'll just show up with flowers." Then he added with conviction, "And a car that's -not- stolen."

Harvey said, "The kid's got the right idea."

Jim smiled. "Sounds like you got a lucky girl there, Puck."

The kid leaned back in his seat again and closed his eyes. "I think I'm gonna tell her ... life's too short to not go after what you want the most …" Slowly, Puck drifted off to sleep, his breathing still heavy and labored. Jim frowned a little, but reached over and squeezed the kid's shoulder.

Harvey waited until the kid was out cold before he murmured to Jim. "He ain't lookin' so good."

"They nearly beat him to death," Jim said. "He got in the way of someone goin' after me."

"He made a choice." He answered swiftly and used his 'look here and listen up' tone of voice that warned Jim not to argue. "You'da done the same and you know it."

Jim found himself able to agree with that. He'd been in a state of total readiness to do that for Madeline only yesterday.

Harvey ended with, "He did what he did. That ain't yours to carry."

He said like it should be just that simple. But it wasn't. Jim blinked the thought away as more urgent matters took his attention. "Where are we with looking into Pinkney's murder?"

"Same spot we've been," Harvey said, his voice agitated. "We know you're innocent. We just gotta work on this little matter of, y'know, proving it."

Jim thought back to his trial. 'It was a setup. I was framed.' The last defense of the guilty. He may as well have said, 'I swear, it wasn't me, copper. It was the one-armed man.' "When you talked to Dent, he said the verdict still held water?"

"Like the Hoover Dam." He said, "But look it, once this city hears you're on the lam, whoever did this might come outta the woodwork to cover their tracks. We just gotta be ready for them when they do."

Jim let a long moment pass. Then he said, "I meant what I said that night you rode with me to Blackgate. You're a good partner, Harv."

"Yeah, well, I figure if Barnes finds out about this little sojourn, I can always put in for a job at Blackgate." He said with some malice, "They're hirin' just anybody over there these days."

Jim played along. "You've already got the uniform."

"And I been puttin' in face-time with the warden. I'm a shoe-in." Harvey shrugged. "Plus, it might be a good way to get out and meet people. This whole me chasin' after women thing's for the birds. I might hop on the dude train for awhile."

The car went suddenly silent.

Harvey burst out in laughter. Jim muttered under his breath.

At the wheel, Harvey said, "Chrissakes, Gordon. I swear to God it's too easy. It's not even fun anymore."

Jim finished off his beer as Harvey cackled out under his breath, 'If you believe that I've got some swampland in Florida to sell you. You can build right on top of that shit'.

They drove all night. When 'Breakout' by the Foo Fighters and 'Jailbreak' by Thin Lizzy came on the radio, Harvey turned it up.


	16. Do Wrong Right

**Hello, wonderful readers! Here's the next. I have two more chapters planned after this, and then we'll reach the end. Happy Wednesday, people! Hope the day treats you well. :)**

(x)

Harvey told her to steer clear of him. Madeline knew why. When she tried to make it look like nothing was going on, she only ever made it look like something was absolutely going on.

Harvey wasn't much better. He was one of those guys who regularly got pulled out of line for random checks at concerts and airports. Something about him just invited suspicion. It only got worse when he'd actually done something to deserve it.

The whole day and night, Madeline kept herself glued to the news. The pit of her stomach dropped every time an update flashed across the screen. It was too much, waiting for Gordon, and possibly Harvey, to get pinched. She tried not to think about what would inevitably happen if they were caught and sent to Blackgate. This time for good.

She didn't sleep much that night. Then the following day, Barnes called her into the office. He told her before the news circuit got a hold of it. It only took Jim Gordon a little more than twenty-four hours outside a jail cell to hunt down Pinkney's murderer and clear his name.

Their killer was Ed Nygma. Or as Madeline had always designated him in her mind, 'creepy smart guy' from forensics. The man who had access to all the evidence from the crime scene and every opportunity to, say, frame someone for murder.

According to reports, Nygma killed three people. Carl Pinkney, Kristen Kringle, and an unlucky hunter who happened upon him burying Kristen's body. Once Jim put it together, Ed retaliated by electrocuting him, dragging him down the street, and shooting him in the leg. (... The man just could not catch a break.) It all ended at Kristen's grave site, where Jim, Harvey, Barnes, and a small army of police officers took Ed down.

Now Madeline sat in an interrogation room across from the man of the hour. Handcuffs cinched tightly around Ed Nygma's wrists. His normally slicked back dark hair fell in wild, sweaty curls into his face. His glasses were smudged. He had a deep purple bruise on his neck, no doubt a lovely parting gift from the GCPD's bottomless well of unchecked anger issues. Not that he hadn't earned it and then some.

Madeline absentmindedly tapped the eraser of her pencil on the table as they sat there. Ed looked at the pencil like he wished she would stop. Or more, like he wanted to make her stop. Maybe rip it out of her hand and … Okay. She put the pencil down, far out of his reach.

He looked … disappointed.

She brushed her red hair over her shoulder. "Mr. Nygma, do you know why I'm meeting here with you in this room?"

He spoke in a bored voice, but just as precisely as he always did. "This is a psychiatric evaluation, done in cases where a decision needs to be made regarding impending incarceration." He tilted his head in from side to side. "Arkham or Blackgate."

"That's correct." She asked him, "Could you tell me a little bit about what life is like for you?"

He narrowed his eyes, almost looking at her over top of his glasses. He enunciated each word. "...Like for me?"

"Could you take me through a typical day?"

His voice tightened with barely contained anger. "Up until recently, on a typical day, I would spend my time in the M.E. lab, attempting to connect with my …" He said the word as if it tasted vinegary, "colleagues. I was a subject of ridicule."

"That must have been …" She chose, "frustrating."

"Yes. I'm sure you can imagine how that might leave someone … agitated."

So it went. Ed answered her questions begrudgingly and with more than a modicum of irritation, boredom, and yes, arrogance.

Interestingly enough, Ed Nygma was his own enigma. On one hand, he was a dangerous criminal who'd masterminded a multi-faceted scheme that involving intense deception, espionage, and the killing of multiple people. On the other hand, he was a small time grifter who seemed baffled as to why his murder spree had caused such an uproar.

Madeline kept asking him benign, tedious questions about his childhood, his parents, questions about his work history and worldview. He answered each quickly, impatiently. She watched them grate on his nerves one at a time.

Finally, the growing irritation reached its peak. He spurted out, "Dr. Scott, it's my understanding that the purpose of this interview is for you to ask questions specifically about the murders of Kristen Kringle and Carl Pinkney."

She blinked, feigning only mild interest. "Oh." Then she adjusted herself in her seat. "Is that something you want to talk about?"

Ed looked mildly exasperated. He zoned in on her, speaking in that crisp, exact way of his. "I've spent a lot time trying to be someone other people would … like… trust … tolerate. Then, I found out the joke was on me. I've been trying to be someone I'm not."

She took pause and then asked. "Who are you really, Mr. Nygma?"

"This." He said it mischievously, excitedly, like a person who'd spent their life afraid of the dark and just realized the darkness couldn't bite back. His voice held both menace and barely contained glee, "I finally understand. This is who I am."

Madeline sat back in her seat.

 _Okay. Here we go._

(x)

It took her forever.

She was probably doing it just to aggravate him. Just like the rest of them, she wanted to see how far she could push him until he … snapped.

Ed didn't care for psychologists. It was a thought he wouldn't have let himself have before. Before he would have done anything, said anything, been anything just to have a fleeting moment of camaraderie, of passing approval. From any of the officers milling about the precinct. Even from this doctor in front of him.

She was dull, boring. She had a lot to say, but that didn't make her interesting. Now she had it within her power to decide whether he would be sent to Blackgate or Arkham.

Who could have seen that coming?

At the same time, he relished the idea of getting to finally tell someone everything he'd been thinking, everything he'd been holding back. The good thing about psychologists was that they couldn't retaliate. They had to accept whatever the person on the other side of the table said, no matter how gruesome or chilling or dark.

He wondered if she'd be aghast or horrified. Like the rest of them. When he was led through the precinct, the officers openly wore faces of shock.

 _Ed? Ed NYGMA? The little spazoid lab geek? Harmless little Ed?!_

That's right, boys and girls. Not so little or harmless now … am I? There's a riddle no one had gotten. Not even Jim Gordon. It still gave him a thrill, how Jimbo had walked right into his apartment, right into his hand. Of course … he hadn't stayed in hand.

He didn't normally experience failure. He'd been conducting a symphony. A funeral dirge for James Gordon. Unfortunately, not all the instruments played in tune. That was a correction for the future. Any mistakes on his part would require attention. They wouldn't be made again.

But for now, back to the present. Dr. Scott wanted him to tell her his thoughts.

"I killed them." Just like that. No preamble. "Just like I planned." He sucked in a breath, "Except for Miss Kringle. Now that was a surprise."

She stared back. "You were surprised that you killed her?"

"It wasn't my intention. She was being loud, irrational. I just wanted her to … be quiet."

"Why was she being loud and irrational?"

"Because I told her that I killed …" He paused. Then he blinked, smiled, and decided to continue, "Officer Tom Dougherty."

Her eyes widened. Ed found himself smiling smugly. That's right, doctor. You didn't know that one. Now did you?

Then her eyebrows went down. "How did you kill him?"

"With a knife. It was … messy. But." He smiled. "First kills typically are."

"Why did you decide to tell her that you killed him?"

Ed's face dropped. Her bland response wasn't what he'd been expecting.

She gave a small shrug. "It just sounds like something that most people would try to keep secret."

"Office Dougherty became… a problem. I killed him to ensure he wouldn't bother her anymore, or anyone anymore." He added an afterthought, "I thought she would find the gesture romantic."

Dr. Scott asked, "So you were trying to elicit a particular response from her but you got the exact opposite reaction."

He found himself saying shortly, carefully, "Yes. You might say that."

"Do you typically have a difficult time getting the reaction you want from those around you?"

Ed smirked. "I had a difficult time getting Detective Gordon to stop poking around into Miss Kringle's disappearance. Until I framed him for Carl Pinkney's murder." He spoke easily, unbothered. This doctor liked Jimbo, anyone (even him) could tell, and she spent a lot of time with Detective Bullock. The two men who dismissed him at every pain-staking, embarrassing turn.

He got an image of the old Ed, grinning away cluelessly, following the detectives around like a lost stray. He inwardly cringed. He hated that little cowardly pity case he used to be. Wished he would die a quick death. … He hoped that was another murder he'd pulled off. The murder of his former self.

Again, Dr. Scott met his stare, looking confused. "Was Jim Gordon looking into Miss Kringle's disappearance? According to his statements, he said it wasn't a priority for him."

Ed stuck to his point. "No, he was relentless."

"Is it possible that isn't true? Maybe you perceived him as being far more obsessed with finding her than he actually was. Once again, misreading the cues of others."

…. Why was she bringing that up again? This was ridiculous. He was supposed to be telling her how he masterminded the murders. He rose up. "Carl Pinkney was much easier to kill than the others. By then I'd gotten over those first murder jitters-"

"I think the difficulty you have reading people around you might have ultimately been what set this entire situation into motion," she said, speaking over top of him. "It caused you to involve Gordon unnecessarily. Which if you think about it, ultimately led to your arrest."

Ed looked to the side and then back at her. Now she was trying to help him learn what he could have done differently as so not to be … caught. Except that didn't make sense. "Why are you talking about that?"

"That isn't a goal of yours? Not to be arrested again in the future?"

Ed squinted at her suspiciously. This was the woman who was fit to be tied when police officers committed even the smallest of infractions. She didn't want him to escape punishment. So why was she burning through their time with these pointless questions?

She commented, "The more crime you're involved in, the more mistakes you're prone to make. It's not just bad for the people you kill. It's bad for you."

He studied her, frowning.

She said, "In fact, you may very well be incarcerated for decades for what you've done. It's ruined your life."

Realization swept across him fully and birthed a resulting grin. Laughter came next, starting out soft and building in intensity.

She was actually trying to convince him to abandon his life of crime. Now? At _this_ point?!

"No," he said. "It didn't ruin me. It's freed me."

"What did it free you from?"

A lifetime of dejection, of absolute obscurity. Her kind would never know the release. The euphoria. The thrill of absolute wrongness. "It doesn't matter," he said. "Because I'm not going back."

She frowned. "Do you feel you've crossed a line?"

He kept his grin in place. "No. There is no line."

Dr. Scott blinked, once, twice. Are you finally getting the picture, doc? Is it sinking in, what you're sitting across from?

He sent her the most demonic look he could put together and leaned in. "There's a monster in all of us, doctor."

She agreed easily. "Yes, there is."

His face dropped into a frown. "... There is?"

"Yes." She didn't sound remotely shocked or bothered by what he said. "Everyone has a dark side. That's just part of the human experience."

Okay, she was back to boring him. She went into a diatribe about stress and choices and other subjects he had zero interest in discussing. Ed started thinking back to how easily Jimbo had bested him, lured him into his trap. He needed to find a better way to dispose of bodies.

Her voice seeped in as she continued, "...When you're having paranoid moments where you think someone's plotting against you…"

Acid worked efficiently. There was a swell idea. But he'd still need a backup. He heard pigs ate through a pound of human flesh in five minutes. But that was from a movie. He'd have to do some research to see if that held water. Speaking of water, Gotham Bay was a pretty big place.

"Mr. Nygma?" The doctor looked at him searchingly. Once she had his attention, she said, "I said, do you remember when you first had the thought that you wanted to kill someone?"

Ed answered automatically, "It's a voice. It's always been there." Just beneath the surface. The voice could be very loud and it made convincing arguments. Even since it broke through, it was the only voice he ever heard any more.

"Do you feel you have no choice but to obey this other persona?"

She wasn't listening, and here Ed thought that was the bulk of her job description. "Do you know why people kill, doctor?"

Dr. Scott held her tongue and waited for him to speak. Ed thought of Penguin, how he'd gotten him out of his "funk" by bringing him a victim, neatly gift-wrapped. It now provided Ed with the answer to his own question. "We don't do it because a voice tells us or because it's an annoying job that has to be done." A smile rose to his face. "We kill because we like it."

Something came across her face then, something different. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and said, "Do you have anything else you'd like to tell me before I make my recommendation?"

He said simply, "Say my name and I disappear. What am I?"

Dr. Scott blinked, thought for a moment, and guessed, "Someone who owes you money?"

Ed stared at her, remaining completely silent.

After almost a full minute, he watched the answer dawn on her. "Oh," she said. "Right."

Dr. Scott gathered her paper and her pencil up, but she turned around before she left. "Mr. Nygma, what is it about riddles that's so compelling for you?" She asked, "Is it because there's a clear, certain answer?"

Think again, doc. He said, "No, it's because there's a challenge."

Dr. Scott regarded him once more, and then she left, shutting the door behind her.

(x)

 _Narcissistic, withdrawn, adept at manipulating others. Socially inept, but has a brilliant mind for science. Lacks approval he craves, failed attempts at courtship. Relationships are short-lived, superficial, bereft of trust._

 _Subject kills with his bare hands, which is not a smart thing to do. Since he is obviously a genius, that means killing for him is a compulsion. Determination to win without scruple or hesitation. Moral compass is absent or undeveloped, feeling little or no empathy for the lives he destroys. Vicious crimes are repeated with no concern for his victims._

Outside the interrogation room, Barnes stood with his jacket off and his shirt sleeves rolled up, reading over the notes she jotted down. She just barely stopped herself from writing, _Keep an eye out, folks. This one's gonna come back around._

He growled through his teeth. "We've got ourselves quite the charmer in there."

She knew Barnes was deviating from discussing how one of his own took the lives of two of his officers and one office worker and framed Gordon. His own forensic scientist orchestrated this murderous rampage, all right underneath their noses. It went beyond embarrassment.

Madeline did her best to keep them from focusing on it. After all, through all this, Barnes had been suffering, too. "A jury of his peers is gonna love him."

"That's a fourth murder victim," he said with a sigh. "Officer Thomas Dougherty. We'll have to go back. There may still be another body out there."

"Nothing stays buried forever." Just ask a psychologist.

He looked up from the notes. "So what's the official diagnosis on this little prick?"

Madeline ignored his casual vernacular, though she was glad he got some new material. 'Psycho' and 'freakshow' were getting kind of tired. "At first blush, social pragmatic communication disorder. Emotions for him is like asking a colorblind man to identify what's red and what's green. He knows the emotions are there. He just can't see them." She said, "But his more pressing diagnosis is antisocial personality disorder. And possibly dissociative identity disorder, given this 'voice' he talks about."

Barnes spoke with open skepticism. "You actually think he has more than one personality?"

"Most experts won't tell you that you don't have multiple personalities. They'll tell you they don't exist. But it does happen."

He said dryly, "And unofficially?"

"He's a human time bomb. He'll kill the very next chance he gets."

He held out her papers to her. "Wherever he goes next, the world'll be better off without him in it."

She accepted the papers, but made no further comment.

Barnes stared off and then glanced back at her. "You didn't let him have it." When she met his eye, he added, "I don't think I've ever seen you rein yourself in like that."

Madeline found herself smiling slightly. Jim Gordon thought she put everything out there and didn't hide things. Barnes thought she held back. It was always interesting how people see us. "Just because Mr. Nygma's a killer doesn't mean he shouldn't be given the opportunity to … understand why he is who he is, to make a different choice."

He squinted at her. "You're not the least bit infuriated that he put Gordon in the slammer, destroyed his life, nearly gunned him down?"

Just like that, she thought back to Jim's last 'session' in Blackgate. How she could feel the intensity radiating off of him. How primed he'd so obviously been to give his life to save hers. How close they'd both come to repeating their past patterns exactly.

Madeline shook it off and made herself focus back on the situation at hand. "Of course, I am," she said. "But how I feel about that has nothing to do with Nygma's evaluation or his diagnosis." The next thought struck her like a punch to the gut, but she still spoke it aloud. "If you let things become personal, it... clouds your judgment."

Barnes kept his eye on her. He looked like somehow he was seeing something more. He said with some certainty, "You knew, didn't you?"

She tried not to let her cheeks flush. "Knew what?"

"About the jailbreak. Before it happened."

She gritted her teeth, took in a breath, and … made it look like absolutely something was going on.

He gave a short nod as he looked her over. "That's what I thought."

Working with cops. They were Sherlock incarnate. It never got old. "What gave it away?"

"You've got a tell."

"Just one?"

"You tense up, and you get that deer-in-the-headlights look." He said in a stern tone, "That would have made you an accomplice, you know. If things hadn't turned out the way they did. That's a felony, punishable by jail time."

He said it like that was the worst decision she'd made in the last few days. Good thing he hadn't had a front row seat to her bad choice awards. She nearly took home the gold.

Madeline said, "It's your job to be concerned with legal justice. But you know as well as I do that doesn't always coincide with moral justice."

Barnes' eyebrows went up. "So now prison-breaks are an example of taking the moral high road."

She spoke resolutely. "He did what needed to be done."

"You're doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"Sticking up for him." He watched her, trying to read her. "I don't understand it. Bullock's just as compromised as all the cops out there you can't stand."

Madeline's chest swelled up and she stood taller. Barnes was right about one thing. She was reining herself in and holding back, or else she would have ripped into him right then and there. Once she got control of herself, she said plainly, "You can't have it both ways, Captain."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You can't ask Harvey to break the rules when it suits you and then get mad when he does it on his own."

He said in a hard tone. "I didn't ask him to do anything."

Okay, well, there was a slip-up on her part if she ever heard one. She kept on point. "Were you going to help Jim Gordon escape from prison?"

"No," he answered.

"And would Gordon have ever cleared his name from inside Blackgate?"

Barnes watched her but didn't answer the rhetorical question.

"You might not have asked Harvey to do it, but that killer in there wouldn't have been caught if he didn't." She said, "He did the wrong thing. And now, because he did, the rest of us can keep doing what's right."

Barnes looked at her with some concern. "You'll want to be careful, thinking like that. When you take the law into your own hands, there's a fine line between reckless and stupid," he said. "It's a little too easy to end up on the wrong side."

She raised her eyebrows and looked away. "Trust me, when I say I'll keep that in mind."

Madeline wrote up Edward Nygma's evaluation before she left the office. She recommended that he be incarcerated in Arkham Asylum due to his pervasive mental illness and the fact that he'd killed again and again. She slipped the report in Barnes' inbox, signed and stamped.


	17. Genghis Khan

**So I almost didn't write this chapter, because it's not essential. But … Harvey Dent doesn't get enough love in fandom. Since he was nice enough to show up when I sat down to write, I figure I'd let him and Madeline rap a little. I mean, they were both hanging out in the precinct anyway, right? … Right.**

 **Thanks so, so much to everyone out there reading. Writing these stories has been therapeutic for me, and so I'm always just grateful that others enjoy them, too. My husband and I are currently working together on the plot of the next story. :) FYI, you can thank him for any plot-line I write that makes sense. He helps keep things real. Also my husband's first name is Jim and he comes from a long line of military men. So … now you all know why Gordon's got such a special place in my heart. ;)**

(x)

"Hello, this is Dr. Madeline Scott."

"Hello, this is Wilson Bishop. Pretty professional, doc. For a second, I thought it was your voicemail."

Madeline leaned back comfortably in her office chair, the phone resting in the crook of her neck against her ear. "Yes, well, when you abandon your cell phone after trespassing into a prison, you don't get the luxury of transferring your contact list into your new phone."

"You don't have to worry. I took care of that one for you."

"You did, huh?"

"Took out the SIM card before Grey got his hands on it."

So the warden wouldn't be able to see their texts. Also, so he couldn't use anything she kept in her phone to his advantage. She smiled contently and sighed a 'my hero' intended to ring out over the line. "I guess that makes us even now."

He said what he always said. "Not even close, doc."

Harvey called it years ago. Wilson's schoolyard crush. As it turned out, it was one that had saved her life. "Once you think it's safe to be seen with me, I'll buy the drinks."

"I'll keep you posted. Things are still a little hot right now."

A familiar neatly-pressed suit and tie marched past her office in a flash, so fast that she almost missed it. After a moment's hesitation, Madeline stood up from her desk. "Hey, Wilson? I gotta run. I'll call you later."

She heard his 'okay', dropped the call, and trotted out into the hallway.

District Attorney Harvey Dent paused in his gait just outside the Captain's office, dressed in his usual sleek and fastidiously groomed attire. His wore his dark hair slicked back. His hairline looked parted by the angels. He peered into the office, obviously checking for Barnes. However, his door was shut and the windows were dark.

Madeline took her sweet time walking up to him. She was still deciding how best to broach conversation, seeing as how the last time they interacted her actions had excluded her from the courtroom.

As luck would have it she didn't need an opening. Dent had one all lined up. "Dr. Madeline Scott." He looked her way as he greeted her. "A 'shining beacon in Gotham's darkness.'"

It earned him a bemused smile. Ah, the press. If they weren't calling for you to be burned at the stake, they were polishing your asshole. "And here I thought they only called me that at the beach." She ran a hand down her freckled, low melanin arm. "Is that one from the supermarket tabloids or low-brow talk shows?"

"Back page of the Times. Opinion section." As she met him outside the Captain's closed office door, he appraised her. "I meant to thank you for the gift basket. A little much, don't you think?"

"When I choose to publicly embarrass myself and others, I send only the finest in gourmet pastries."

Dent's smile didn't reach his eyes, but it was still there. "My staff enjoyed the danishes and bear claws. Clearly the GCPD's left its mark on your choice of care package."

"Doughnuts are considered a basic food group around here." She shrugged and asked, "What do lawyers eat for breakfast?"

"Each other," he answered and got them on a different subject. "I see you've managed to keep your name on the brass plate outside your office."

"Oh, you know, I'm like a criminal record. I'm easy to get but I'm tough to get rid of." She glanced at the Captain's closed office door and then back to the D.A. "If you're looking for Barnes, you just missed him. But if you let me in on what you need, I might be nice and help you."

He studied her for a moment. "A psychologist who sends my office an array of baked goods? That sounds more like someone who wants me to do something nice for her."

She thought for a moment, before she said, "I completed Edward Nygma's evaluation. I'm sure you received your copy."

"Received and read."

"And your thoughts?"

"For what I could tell, it was professionally and fairly written."

"It won't be the last one I write or the last one you read."

Dent stood, staring at her thoughtfully for a long clip. "That's most likely true, though I am curious as to your motivation in mentioning it in casual conversation."

Madeline cut to the chase. "It's come to my attention that my involvement in this city's inner workings may be seen as … objectionable and ill-favored."

He picked something up then that she hadn't intended to convey. He replied softly but with some certainty, "So you have been threatened."

She stared off. Sarcasm laced her tone. "Aw, Dent. That's so sweet. You say it like there's just one." She said, "Though before you ask. No. They haven't succeeded in quieting me."

"What would succeed in quieting you?"

"I'd say an elephant gun, but probably not even that."

He looked her over and then asked directly. "Do you want my help, Dr. Scott?"

"I do. And also you might want mine." His silence allowed her to continue, so she did. "Arkham Asylum is back up and running, and already, they've dispensed of two dangerous murderers with a simple sheet of printed paper declaring them 'sane' without disclosing any of their progress notes or treatment modalities."

"Am I hearing that you don't believe in 'ground-breaking and complete mental health recovery of antisocial behavior?'" Dent quoted easily from yesterday's news article.

"It's a crock of shit," she remarked. "You'll be needing a credible psychologist to testify in what I expect to be an array of upcoming court hearings when they inevitably 'relapse.'" She added in a quieter tone, "Maybe one who can't be bought off or distracted by bribes the crime bosses in this city use as often as the rest of us use band-aids and duct-tape."

"Finding someone to go on record can be a challenge." He seemed to say the next part for her benefit. "All too often, the ones that do don't last long."

"I'm like a criminal record. Or did you already forget?"

"Easy to get, tough to get rid of. So you said." He waited a beat and then asked, "And how are we to thank you for your implied assistance in these eventual hearings?"

He provided her an opening, and she took it. "The next time I take objectionable, ill-favored steps, I may need an avenue that can't be easily traced back to me."

He made a thoughtful noise. "Such as a D.A.'s office."

Madeline matched his tone, deviating from their banter. "I'm learning that when you take risks, you don't take them alone. If I'm going to help shape this city into something vaguely less corrupt, I need to do so at times without raising red flags."

"These measures you're planning to take. Am I to understand that they'll be taken with the betterment of the city in mind?"

She saw no reason not to be just as direct as he was. "I care. So sue me."

"Not the best dare to give a district attorney." He relented, "But… it would seem that we have similar end goals in mind."

"I'm a conscientious objector. Like you."

That touch of his smile returned. "You're worse than that. You're a liberal."

She winked. "Recovering."

He sucked in a breath and said, "I've looked into your past work history in this city. You managed to stay at Blackgate without tarnishing your name or reputation. Until they … asked you to step down."

"I was fired," she deadpanned. "I had a falling out with management."

Dent watched her carefully. "Your objections about how the warden ran Blackgate weren't low-pitched."

Madeline widened her eyes to herself. And he had no idea the lengths she'd taken recently at that. "Yes, well, when I talk, I tend to do it loudly."

He stood up straighter and raised his voice. "I imagine you could talk your way out of a paper bag, if you managed to convince Captain Barnes to keep you in his employ after your last court appearance."

She softened. "Despite what I implied in court, I trust Barnes with my life and the lives of anyone else in this city," she said. "But I meant what I said about the level of violence and trauma all of us face on a daily basis. It's a real and destructive mental health crisis."

"I'll have to trust your expertise on that matter." D.A. Dent looked down at his watch. "Now I'm going to have to trust that you'll excuse me as I have yet another scheduled meeting that requires my immediate attention."

"Thank you for your time, Dent."

He turned back. "You can call me Harvey if you prefer."

She waited a beat before saying, "I like Dent."

"As you will." He took his leave, a man with a skyrocketing career and worlds to conquer. "'Til next time, Dr. Scott."

She relaxed against the Captain's closed office door, casting an eye over the open working area of the precinct. When she averted her gaze from Dent's departure, she turned to see Detective Harvey Bullock sitting back in his desk chair, tough exterior and sly good looks in place. He wore the knot of his tie lowered, and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up. He sent her a knowing smile that spoke volumes.

She clicked her lips as she ambled up to him. "So… do you have something to share with the class?"

He aimed for casual. "I'm either hearin' things or I just caught you doing some actual schmoozing."

It probably should have bothered her, Harvey's eavesdropping, but instead, it was just the opposite. He was keeping an eye out. That meant he'd catch her if she spun too wide on her axis.

She shrugged in a coy, nonchalant manner. "I was simply offering my psychiatric services. I'm doing it to appease."

"Bullshit," he said easily. "If you're doing it, you've got an ulterior motive."

"I figure it can't hurt to branch out a little, if I'm going to continue to regularly upset the power structure."

He couldn't seem to help himself. "Looks like someone's got themselves a bad case of the Harveys."

Madeline couldn't stop from smiling. She could only tone it down. "I've had this feeling before," she reminded him. "You might remember I know greatness when I see it."

That earned her a grumbling string of mutterings. "Uh-huh. You done now?"

"Trouble-making or pushing my agenda? Or speaking out of turn and above my station?"

"Think I'm gonna go with D. All of the above."

"I call it like I see it." Hopefully in Dent's case, he'd follow more in the footsteps of Alexander the Great and Augustus Caesar and a little less like Napoleon and Genghis Khan. "Besides, I'm just taking your advice."

He sent back dryly, "Oh really? What advice might that be?"

She used his words, "To 'play the game.'" As she walked away, she gave a little shimmy. "And cover my tight little ass for once."

As she clicked her heels away, Madeline didn't feel the need to look back. She knew he saw it.


	18. Hallelujah

**Oh, man, I've had so much fun writing this story. Thank you so, so much for being awesome, dedicated readers. I can't thank you enough for inspiring and encouraging all this continued literary insanity.**

 **Veterans know how the last chapter works. I let Harvey's mind run wild, and things hum along and wrap up from there. As such, our last chapter is rated M for all the usual, fun-filled Harvey Bullock reasons.**

 **So usually I jump right into posting the next story. However, I really want the next story to be the best I've written for this fandom yet. As such, I'm taking time to make sure it's exactly as I want it to be before posting. :) I'm anticipating that the next story will be posted after the holidays late Dec 2016/early Jan 2017. So be on the lookout for "Trust Fall" in our beautiful Gotham fandom. Thanks for all the love, everybody!**

(x)

His last name was Murphy and he worked in Property Crimes. That was all Madeline knew about him, besides the fact that he was a chauvinistic snorting pig. She stood on the opposite side of the file cabinet in the back of the Annex, hidden from view as she eavesdropped. Being fun-sized had its benefits. Murphy filed paperwork on the other side, talking to a younger officer named Sheppard about Josie Mac and her watermelons.

"I just want to bury my face in those sweater puppets." Murphy made the matching motor-boat noise. "All I need is a night at the bar with her and a couple Long Island Ice Teas. Know what I'm sayin'?"

"She'd be good for a little ass on the side."

He muttered, "She's the only trim in this place who is."

"Yeah, it's slim pickings out there ever since Dr. Thompkins left town." He said in a lower voice, "What about that other doc upstairs? Redheads are more fun, right?"

"She's got a nice can. But she's a headache on legs. She yaps more than all my ex-wives put together." He said, "That and she's a little old for my tastes."

Madeline clicked her lips. She was just about to make herself known, when a thick Gotham accent broke into the conversation.

"Hey," Alvarez brayed at them. "How 'bout you shut your noise-holes? Show a little respect."

Sudden, stunned silence met his order.

Madeline donned a sugar-sweet smile as she popped her head around the corner. "Yeah, you might want to be careful. You never know who's listening."

Sheppard shifted uncomfortably in place, and Murphy struggled to put together his next sentence.

"S'matter, boys?" she asked. "Cat got your tongue?"

Murphy openly glared at the question, and Sheppard pointed to her. "Uh, how much of that did you hear?"

"I caught the part about having a nice can, but I missed the part about being too old for your tastes." She took another breath and said, "Hey, Alvarez, can you get Sheppard outta here? Detective Murphy and I need to have a talk."

Sheppard stood his ground. "Hey, hold up a minute. You can't say who gets to be here and who doesn't-"

Alvarez pushed forward, bulldozing into Sheppard and escorting him out of the Annex. "You heard the lady. Let's go, pal."

Madeline stepped in front of the exit, blocking Murphy as he went to bolt past her. "Detective, I couldn't help but overhear your very loud, very caveman-esque bragging yesterday. I especially loved the part about beating the piss out of hoodrats who are late on their monthly payments."

His frown deepened. "Hey, listen, you're gonna wanna stop talkin' about crap that ain't none of your beeswax before I-"

"Before you fuck me up a little and soften my ass up?" When that left him gobsmacked, Madeline looked to the side, considering it fully. "You know, I've already heard that one this month."

Murphy stood up a little taller. "Just keep talkin'. You won't always be-"

"Under the watch of whatever detective I'm fucking this week? That one is pretty popular. You might want to cruise HBO on demand to come up with some fresh new material. I suggest Oz or the Sopranos circa 2001. Great for brushing up on your threats." She raised her voice as she smoothly got into a roll. "Now, I know you've found this new and exciting financial loophole called 'crime.' But even though you are a cop, that doesn't mean that you get to do shitty and illegal things whenever the mood takes you."

Murphy sneered at her. "I don't know what the fuck you're talking about. So I use a little grease to get important people their cash back. So what?"

Madeline blinked. "Just to recap. Money is loaned out?"

He said shortly in an annoyed tone. "Yeah."

"And then when they can't pay up, you make them pay but with interest?"

"Yeah, but-"

"Yes, that's loan sharking."

From across the way, Detective Harvey Bullock stood with Captain Barnes just outside his office door. They looked on as Madeline took Detective Murphy to task. Harvey couldn't hear every word, but Murphy's voice started to boom that he came in there to file shit, not to listen to her run her mouth off. Madeline answered back swiftly, "I'm not here to sugarcoat things. I'm not Willy Wonka and this is not a Chocolate Factory."

Barnes looked over top of his half-moon reading glasses. "She's a pistol."

Harvey loudly barked off a laugh, because he said it as if he had any idea.

(x)

In the early evening, Madeline hurried downstairs towards the excited whoops, golf claps, and soft yells just outside one of the GCPD interrogation rooms. She saw Alvarez dressed in a get-up very much in homage to Marilyn Monroe. He traipsed past, receiving high-fives and slaps on the ass from the other officers.

Harvey stationed himself just outside the interrogation room, kicking back his flask, his cheeks ruddy from the scotch. He had the knot of his tie lowered, and his shoulder holster in place. When he wore that cat-that-got-the-canary grin, it always made him damn easy on the eyes.

Madeline started for him, and he hopped forward, meeting her halfway. "C'mere," he said conspiratorially. "You're gonna wanna check this out."

She allowed herself to be gently pulled forward until she looked into an interrogation room holding … a Caucasian woman in her late fifties wearing a dated pants suit, vermilion in color, with a colorful ascot tied around her neck. Her Elsa Lanchester hair completed the look.

She squinted at Harvey for a clue. "So I don't think she's here to apply for the open stenographer position, and she's not here for a scrap-booking class. So that means she's…"

"Our murder suspect. You know, that one we've been looking for all month."

She eyes went wide. "... A _female_ serial murderer."

"I tried to tell ya. We were lookin' for an equal opportunity killer."

"Well, tattoo me shocked," Madeline said, staring back through the one-way glass. "Though I did say they'd be deep down in that closet." She added, "I just didn't know that closet would be filled with the sales rack from Marshall's and T.J. Maxx."

"Yeah, well, equality. And all that noise."

She hummed. "Those sensitivity trainings. They're really paying off."

Harvey got her up to speed. "We lured her in by having a Madam at the local no-tell-motel use the right buzzwords to hit all the high notes."

She arched a skeptical eyebrow. "...Buzzwords?"

Harvey rattled off, "Hot and Horny Jizz Queens, Anal Fantasy, Tranny Panties, Party with Cross Dressing Sluts-"

"Okay, okay." She waved off the comments. "Sorry I asked."

He rested his hands on his best and holster. "Genevieve Esposito likes her women by the hour and her men in full drag. We reeled her in all right. She came bearing a sharpened kitchen knife, though they got her in cuffs before any slicing or dicing could get underway."

At the other end of the hallway, she overheard Alvarez telling the story to a group of fellow officers. He said, "... I couldn't get the damned thing out of my bra. I almost blew my tits off…"

Harvey regained her attention. "Her credit card matches a purchase made online for Balsam oil, which she buys on the regular because she's the head pastor of Christ Light Baptist Church."

Madeline stared at him, mouth parted open. She just kept shaking her head. "But wait, there's more? You're giving me that look like there's more."

Harvey obliged with a sideways grin. "Her fingerprint matches a latent print that forensics pulled from the last motel room."

"Did she confess?"

"Praise be to God and Hallelujah." He kicked back his flask once more.

Madeline smiled. "That oughtta make Barnes do a snoopy dance."

"Eh, you know, we just caught your run of the mill bible-toting, psalm-praising xenophob who has this little proclivity for stabbing prostitutes on the sly." He shrugged it off. "Sort of groundbreaking and such. You know, no big thing."

Madeline squinted back at their suspect. "Why does she look like she's getting ready to officiate Ken and Barbie's beach wedding?"

"Get this. She was planning to go to night mass right after."

She looked at him over top her glasses. "Stabbing leads to a lot of blood everywhere. Was she going to make it there in time factoring in clean-up?"

He said simply, "She was a little less worried about that and a little more concerned with how her old man would take things. You should have seen her face when we told her we'd need to bring in her hubby to talk about her nighttime activities."

"Oops," she said. "Killing multiple people. Apparently it has consequences. I'm sure you explained that to her in full."

"That's the job," Harvey said. "Putting away murderers. Keeping the streets safe for the ladies and Alvarezes of the night."

Madeline tossed up her arms. "Thank God above." Then, a more sobering thought struck her. "I guess this means Alvarez is officially freed from his role as our resident Mrs. Doubtfire."

Harvey looked over her shoulder at his partner. "If he gets the itch again, he'll always have Halloween."

She breathed a nostalgic sigh as she let Harvey get back to work and accept his accolades from his fellow officers. She gave Alvarez her best 'atta girl' when she passed him in the hallway. She still hated Warden Grey and the detectives in Property Crimes, but she had to admit. Alvarez was starting to grow on her.

When she returned to her office, she had a voicemail waiting for her. The clear, accented voice of Alfred Pennyworth came through the speaker, letting her know that Bruce had returned home safely, in one piece to Wayne Manor. Madeline released a long breath of relief and mentally planned to return the call in the morning to put pressure on them to schedule a session sooner rather than later.

With her cell phone in hand, she then dialed a familiar number. He picked up on the second ring. "Hey, doc," Wilson said. "I thought we said we wouldn't catch up until the situation over here cooled off a little."

"I know," she said. "But I'm having a good day, and I could really use another rendition of my favorite bedtime story just to make my night complete."

She heard him sigh, but even over the phone, it sounded playful. "You really want to hear it again?"

Madeline grinned as she kicked back in her chair. "From the top, if you please."

Wilson lowered his voice. "Okay, so I'm running back to the infirmary, because Gordon decided that he could leave without Puck. That's when I see Grey leveling his gun at him. So I creep up nice and quiet like and that's when I take out my baton…"

(x)

A few hours later, Harvey sent his serial killer on her merry way up to the women's prison facility with a wave and a 'thanks for memories'. His shift was over, and he'd been about to hit the 'ole dusty trail, when he saw the light was still on in Madeline's office.

He plodded his way up and knocked 'shave and a haircut two bits' on her open door.

She flashed him a smile, and when she turned toward him, her red hair smoothly cascaded down over her shoulder. There were times when he'd been too aggravated at her or too distracted by obligation to notice. But he'd be damned if she didn't look just as achingly beautiful as ever.

She asked him, "Is the case of the Prostitute-Stabbing Femme Fatale finally closed?"

"Open and shut," he said. "Now that we wrapped up this little mystery, it's time to knock back a few down at the ale house." When Madeline nodded her understanding, he said, "I'm letting down the general public if I don't get drunk and stumble around. It's like they sort of expect it."

"You're a one man conga line."

Harvey scratched his head. "Alvarez and a few of the rookies are already way ahead of me. They're downstairs shaking their asses to trap-rap like a bunch of fools. They look like Indians dancing around a fire."

Madeline worked hard not to laugh. "What a progressive analogy."

"Aw, screw progressive," he said. "I'm an old man. I'm allowed to be insensitive. It's cute."

"Is it?"

"Yeah, I'm a cute curmudgeon. I complain about teenagers and the thermostat being set too high."

"Setting the temperature to sixty-five makes all the sense in the world. If you want to live like an Eskimo in an igloo."

It was an old argument. Harvey mock-yelled at her. "Stop turning up the heat. You're burning through money."

Madeline nodded her chin at him. "Hey, speaking of which, you lose power last night?"

Gotham. Come for the violent crime. Stay for the rolling blackouts. "Yeah, at like one a.m. I was standing in the kitchen naked eating peanut butter out of the jar with a spoon."

Madeline threw back her head and burst out laughing, the real one where she snorted and everything. When it tapered off, she said, "Did you put the spoon in the dishwasher?"

"Fuck no," he said easily. "I wasn't ready to commit. I might wanna use it to get more peanut butter later." He asked her, "How 'bout you? Your place go dark?"

"Yeah," she said. "I was watching _The Purge_ when the lights went out."

"A horror movie? During a thunderstorm?" Maybe now she was trying to give herself panic attacks. "Did it give you the heebie jeebies?"

"I didn't get far enough into the movie for anything to happen. When the power went off, everyone was still in the house safe and warm." She shrugged. "So I still don't know how _The Purge_ works. Do they provide you with a mask? Do you bring your own? I'll never know."

Harvey said, "It's all good. You live in Gotham. Around here, we just call _The Purge_ Tuesday."

"I did stay up after that, but just so I could eat through all the ice cream."

"You got no choice. It was just gonna melt anyway."

"Exactly." Madeline started to set aside paperwork on her desk, actually trying to halfway organize it for once.

Harvey cast her a stare. There she sat perched in her desk chair, safe, comfortable, her cute psychologist thing dialed up to the max. He thought back to Zero Dark Blackgate, when he pulled her out of there in just the nick of time. He wondered if she knew how hard it was for him to watch her do it. How he saw danger coming and wanted nothing more than to get her out of harm's way.

He wouldn't have agreed to her little plan six years ago, that's for sure. Harvey bet that said something. Maybe he wasn't the only one trusting here. Through all this, he'd trusted her, too.

She noticed his staring. "And just what're _you_ looking at?"

He smirked. "Haven't you heard? You're the babe all the meatheads around here most want to get into a full Nelson."

She rolled her eyes and made a face. "Yes, well, despite this, I've remained humble." Then she added, "Plus, it's only because Alvarez will no longer be in trotting around in heels and evening wear."

"He's pretty in that manly sort of way," Harvey said in a deep, gruff voice. "Standing next to him and Gordon makes me look bad. Between that and the beard, I'm giving Grizzly Adams a run for his money."

Madeline grinned. "I wouldn't worry about it. Some of us like our men with a little scuff. Or, y'know, a lot."

Harvey stepped a little further into her office. "You oughtta come out and keep Alvarez company. You girls can talk about the Chew and give each other make-up tips."

She pursed her lips thoughtfully. He watched himself get all the way to full consideration level. Then she blinked suddenly. "Oh, you know what, I can't. I've got a session tonight."

He took the disappointment in stride. "You know what they say about all work and no play, doc."

"We'll rain-check. Scout's honor." Then she said, "Have a beer for me, would ya?"

"Are you kiddin'? I gotta pace myself these days." He ambled his way back to the door. "After all the death-defying criminal joyrides this week, I'm half an egg sandwich away from a coronary."

She mused on that. It seemed to birth a resulting thought. "...He hasn't signed back on yet, has he?"

Harvey knew exactly what she meant. "You know how that one goes. Time'll tell."

"He'll be back. Gordon's a lifer," she said with some certainty. "Just like someone else I know."

"Can't quit now. I'll lose my pension."

She leaned back comfortably in her chair. "You'll still be here a hundred years from now. Bitching and moaning about the rookies when really you've got their backs."

"All the rookies out there can take a number. I got all the excitement I can handle."

"Just as well. There's nothing you hate more than when things get boring and predictable." The minute he started to mutter a protest, she said loudly, "No matter what you say."

He looked her over once more and half-smiled. "Yeah, well, you don't realize an important piece is missing until that piece comes back and starts making your life an insane roller coaster where the tracks are out."

Madeline sent him an adoring smile. "I'm sure he missed you, too."

Harvey gave her a lazy salute, fit his hat on his head, and made his way down the hall. He huffed a short laugh to himself as he left.

Right. She still thought he was talking about Gordon.

(x)

Jim Gordon took his time strolling up the sidewalk. The sun went down hours ago, and the temperature dropped into the forties. But no matter how cold it got, that didn't stop him from enjoying the night breeze and staring up at the clear, starry sky. He wondered when it would get old, the sensation of being his own man, alive and free, walking around wherever and whenever he pleased. He hoped it would take awhile.

He paused when he reached the sandstone front of her office, empty except for a tiny gold metal plaque with her namesake and credentials. He scratched his head and looked down at his watch. After she risked death to see him in Blackgate, he figured the least he could do was show up a couple minutes early for his session.

Jim hopped up the steps and opened the front door, which she almost never kept locked. He said something to her about it once, and she bit back with something harsh and sarcastic. Apparently he pinched a nerve when all he meant to do was touch it. She softened, of course, once she realized. Made a joke about how maybe she should keep her door locked, but she didn't know why Jim ever would. How if anyone ever broke into his place, he'd probably just consider it entertainment.

He figured that said something about how she saw him, and given all the ways to be seen, that was one he could handle.

He stepped into the warm foyer and shed his jacket before he hung it up on the wooden coat rack. Then Jim walked up to her open doorway. Madeline hadn't seen him yet. She flitted about her office in her usual garb, cotton shirt and pencil skirt, addressing whatever therapists needed to address.

Jim found himself smiling slightly. Back in her office, she looked polished, poised, a woman committed to her profession and patients. Just as she should be.

He realized standing there could technically be considered lurking, so he loudly cleared his throat.

From behind her desk, Madeline lifted her head up suddenly and fixed her gaze on him.

Jim said, "I'm a few minutes early. Just wanted to let you know I'm in here."

He barely got the words out before she rushed up to him and grabbed him into a fierce embrace.

Jim sucked in a breath and his body went stiff as a rail. He blinked a few times as he stood rock-still, uncertain as to what to do or say. He hadn't expected this. Hugs didn't really ... exist in his world.

The longer they stood there with her arms wrapped around him and him not moving, not showing any sign of reciprocity, the more awkward he felt. He tried to think practically. He knew the polite thing to do would be to return the gesture, but he also knew that the absolute last thing Madeline wanted was for him to do it just because he thought he had to.

What did she want him to do?

He had the answer quicker than he expected. Like always, she wanted him to have what he wanted and needed most.

So … what did he want?

That stretch of land was too vast, too uncharted. It overwhelmed him to even try to narrow down anything he wanted at this point.

He moved onto the next question.

What did he need?

He hesitated for a long moment, letting the question sit in his mind.

Then Jim felt himself sink in just slightly. He closed his eyes and hugged her back.


End file.
